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THE  TECHNIQUE  OF 
THE  ONE-ACT  PLAY 

A  Study  in  Dramatic 
Construction 


B.  ROLAND  LEWIS,  M.A.  (Harvard) 

Associate  Professor  of  English 
in  Tlie  University  of  Utah 


JOHN  W.  LUCE   AND   COMPANY 
BOSTON      ::::::      1918 


-f 


PREFACE 

The  One-act  play  is  with  us  and  is  asking 
for  consideration.  Theatre  managers,  stage 
designers,  devotees  of  the  drama,  actors,  drama- 
tists, and  University  professors  recognize  its 
presence.  It  is  to  be  noted,  too,  that  no  apology 
is  being  offered  for  the  better  sort  of  contem- 
porary One-act  plays.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
none  is  needed.  They  justify  themselves  as 
worth-while  studies  of  human  life  and  human 
character.  Without  adequate  first-hand  ac- 
quaintance with  the  fundamentals  of  life,  they 
cannot  be  written  any  more  than  can  the  three- 
act  form.  The  One-act  play  is  no  longer  to  be 
dismissed  with  a  careless  wave  of  the  hand. 
It  has  come  to  be  a  fact  in  contemporary  dra- 
matic expression. 

The  writing  of  this  volume  has  been  prompt- 
ed by  two  things.  One  is  the  conviction  that 
the  principles  of  writing  the  One-act  play  can 
be  taught  with  a  large  measure  of  profit  to  the 
earnest  playwright ;  and  the  other  is  the  strong 
belief  that  the  devotee  of  the  drama  will  wel- 
come a  volume  dealing  with  a  study  of  the  prin- 


Preface 

ciples  of  dramaturgy  as  operative  in  the  short- 
er dramatic  product. 

The  materials  of  these  chapters  have  come 
directly  out  of  the  lectures  and  the  laboratory 
work  of  a  course  in  Writing  the  One-act  play 
as  conducted  in  the  University  of  Utah,  and 
out  of  a  rather  careful  analysis  of  more  than 
three  hundred  of  the  contemporary  shorter 
form  of  drama.  In  no  case  has  the  author 
wished  to  be  arbitrarily  dogmatic;  yet  it  has 
been  necessary,  for  purposes  of  emphasis,  to 
state  precepts  with  a  firmness  born  of  con- 
viction. Moreover,  experience  in  conducting 
work  in  play-writing  in  the  University  lecture 
room  has  led  the  author  to  feel  that  a  purpose 
and  a  definite  intent,  not  a  ride,  are  the  real 
guides  and  motive  forces  in  the  writing  of  any 
kind  of  play. 

Indebtedness  for  valuable  aid  is  hereby  ac- 
knowledged to  colleagues  in  the  Department  of 
English  in  the  University  of  Utah.  To  Louis  W. 
Larsen  and  L.  A.  Quivey,  to  Professors  A.  S. 
Bennion  and  George  M.  Marshall,  appreciation 
is  due  for  their  having  materially  lightened  the 
labor  of  revision  of  the  manuscript.  To  Pro- 
fessor O.  J.  P.  Widtsoe,  Head  of  the  Depart- 
ment, is  due  acknowledgment  of  valuable  aid 
in  the  matter  of  structure.  Expression  of  ap- 
preciation is  also  due  to  Professor  George  Q. 
Coray,  Professor  of  Anthropology  and  Sociol- 


Preface 

ogj,  and  to  Professor  George  Snoddy,  Profes- 
sor of  Psychology,  for  their  helpful  criticism 
of  several  chapters. 

B.  Roland  Lewis. 
Salt  Lake  City, 
September  1,  1918. 


To 

The  Men  and  Women  of  the  University  of  Utah 

Whose  Interest  in  the  Writing  of  the  One-Act  Play 
Has  Made  this  Volume  Possible 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGB 

I  The  Case  of  the  One-act  Play      .  9 

II  The  Dramatist  and  his  Audience  .  27 

III  The  Dramatist  and  his  Technique  58 

IV  The  Theme  of  the  One-act  Play  .  76 
V  The  Plot  of  the  One-act  Play     .  94 

VI  The  Beginning  of  the  One-act  Play  125 

VII  The  Middle  of  the  One-act  Play  147 

VIII  The  End  of  the  One-act  Play  .      .  184 

IX  Dramatic  Characterization      .     .  201 

X   Dramatic  Dialogue 223 

XI   Stage  Direction  and  Stage  Setting  242 

Appendix 265 

Index 272 


TECHNIQUE  OF  THE 

ONE-ACT  PLAY 

CHAPTER  I 

THE    CASE    OF    THE    ONE-ACT    PLAY 

The  One-act  Play  as  a  Dramatic  Type 

Students  of  literature  and  of  life  are  quite 
agreed  that  both  the  subject-matter  and  the 
technique  of  any  literary  product  are  often 
very  largely  determined  by  the  prevailing  social 
conditions  of  the  period  during  which  it  has 
been  produced.  There  is  frequently  prevailing 
mode  and  convention  in  literary  activity  quite 
as  much  as  there  is  in  the  current  social  de- 
corum. To-day  it  is  not  the  three-act  play 
nor  the  five-act  play  that  is  the  centre  of  inter- 
est in  dramatic  expression:  it  is  the  One-act 
play, — not  a  new  form  of  course,  but  one  that, 
despite  unsympathetic  animadversion,  chal- 
lenges attention. 

Theatre  managers,  the  general  theatre-going 
public,  actors,  playwrights,  and  even  the  pro- 
fessors in  the  University,  recognize  its  presence. 
It  is  to  be  observed,  too,  that  no  apology  is 

9 


10    Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

being  offered  for  the  better  sort  of  contem- 
porary One-act  plays,  and  indeed  none  is 
needed.  They  justify  themselves  as  worth- 
while studies  of  human  life  and  character. 
Their  effectiveness  as  a  form  of  dramatic  ex- 
pression is  their  own  justification  for  being. 
They  cannot  be  written,  any  more  than  can 
the  three-act  form,  without  adequate  first-hand 
acquaintance  with  life.  A  good  many  lack 
dramatic  style  and  value — and  so  do  many  of 
the  longer  plays — but  a  surprisingly  large  num- 
ber possess  them.  The  One-act  play  can  no 
longed  be  dismissed,  with  a  lofty  wave  of  the 
academic  hand,  as  of  no  consequence.  It  is 
with  us;  and  it  warrants  being  taken  seriously. 
The  One-act  play  is  claiming  recognition  as 
a  specific  dramatic  type.  The  short-story, 
and  likewise  the  novel,  was  once  an  embryo  and 
an  experiment ;  but  no  enlightened  person,  now- 
adays, would  care  to  hold  that  it  has  not  de- 
veloped into  a  worthy  literary  type.  Its  popu- 
larity is  attested  by  the  fact  that  most  of  the 
contemporary  fiction  writers  have  essayed  it. 
This  shorter  form  of  fiction  was  once  apolo- 
getic, and  that  not  so  many  years  ago ;  but  it 
has  come  unto  its  own  and  now  enjoys  the 
recognition  of  being  a  distinctive  type  of  prose 
narrative.  What  the  One-act  play  asks  is  not 
an  advocate  or  a  defender.  It  asks  opportun- 
ity for  development!     Its  possibilities   are  as 


The  Case  of  the  Oxe-Act  Play    11 

much  greater  than  the  short-story  as  the  drama 
is  greater  than  the  novel.  The  One-act  play 
is  no  longer  wholly  an  experiment;  it  is  suc- 
ceeding in  high  places.  And  the  signs  of  the 
times  are  that  at  a  date  not  far  distant,  per- 
haps already  arrived,  this  form  of  drama  wiU 
stand  erect  and  take  its  place  among  the  sig- 
nificant types  of  literary  expression. 

It  is  either  lack  of  acquaintance  with  the  One- 
act  play  or  lack  of  sympathy  for  the  uncon- 
ventional, though  ever  so  worthy,  in  drama  that 
some  students  of  dramatic  art  have  failed  to 
appreciate  the  real  nature  and  value  of  this 
shorter  form.  Five  years  ago  the  One-act  play 
was  not  so  conspicuous  as  it  is  now;  hence 
there  may  have  been  reason  for  William 
Archer's  saying,  in  his  book  on  Play-Making 
where  he  discusses  the  routine  of  composition, 
"Go-as-you-please  composition  may  be  possible 
for  the  novelist,  perhaps  even  for  the  writer  of 
a  one-act  play,  a  mere  piece  of  dialogue,  etc." 
Nothing  could  be  more  unsympathetic  and  more 
from  the  point  than  this.  If  the  One-act  play, 
in  its  better  form,  is  anything  at  all  it  is  not 
"go-as-you-please  composition"  and  is  not  "a 
mere  piece  of  dialogue."  "But  the  one-act 
play,"  says  Walter  Prichard  Eaton,  "has  an 
obvious  right  to  existence,  as  much  as  the  short- 
story,  and  there  are  plentiful  proofs  that  it 
can  be  terse,  vivid  and  significant."     Again,  he 


12    Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

holds,  "It  Is  the  one-act  play  in  our  country 
to-day — which  will  bear  the  most  watching  for 
signs  of  imagination  and  for  flashes  of  insight 
and  interpretative  significance."  Sir  James  M. 
Barrie's  "The  Twelve-Pound  Look,"  Marion 
Craig  Wentworth's  "War  Brides,"  Fenn  and 
Price's  " 'Op-o'-Me-Thumb,"  William  Butler 
Yeats's  "The  Hour-Glass,"  Zona  Gale's  "Neigh- 
bors," Paul  Hervieu's  "Modesty,'*  August 
Strindberg's  "Facing  Death,"  Edward  Good- 
man's "Eugenically  Speaking,"  Lord  Dunsany's 
"The  Glittering  Gate"  and  "The  Lost  Silk 
Hat,"  George  Cram  Cook  and  Susan  Glaspell's 
"Suppressed  Desires,"  Alice  Gerstenberg's 
"Overtones,"  and  many  others  that  could  well 
be  listed,  are  not  "go-as-you-please  composi- 
tion" and  are  not  "a  mere  piece  of  dialogue." 

The  One-act  play  is  not  merely  a  thing  of 
practice  for  the  amateur  and  the  novice.  A 
critic  of  no  mean  value,  in  a  current  volume  on 
play-writing,  has  asserted  that  the  One-act 
play  offers  the  amateur  the  easiest  opportunity 
for  testing  his  skill,  and  that  the  time  and  the 
labor  involved  in  its  composition  is  perhaps  less 
than  a  fourth  or  a  fifth  of  that  demanded  for 
a  five-act  drama.  "Beginners,"  he  says,  "will 
do  well  to  practise  the  various  forms  of  compo- 
sition in  the  brief  sketch,  before  venturing  upon 
the  full  fledged  play."  It  is  quite  well  known 
that  some  good  plays  have  been  written  in  a 


The  Case  of  the  One- Act  Play    IS 

few  days,  others  have  required  months  and  even 
years  of  arduous  labor.  Some  novels  have  been 
quickly  composed ;  whereas  some  short-stories 
have  required  the  undivided  attention  of  the 
author  for  weeks  and  months.  The  time  ele- 
ment for  composing  a  One-act  play,  or  any 
other  form  of  literature,  is  wholly  relative ;  and 
comparisons  of  any  kind  are  invidious.  Those 
who  have  written  One-act  plays  give  ample 
testimony  that  their  composition  is  not  a  mat- 
ter of  time  but  a  matter  as  serious  and  impor- 
tant as  the  composition  of  any  other  form. 
And  to  recommend  to  amateurs  that  they  try 
out  their  powers  by  practising  with  the  One-act 
form  with  the  view  that  the  One-act  piece  is  only 
a  stepping-stone  to  the  three-act  form,  is  only 
to  reveal  one's  ignorance  of  the  constructive 
problem  involved  in  the  shorter  type  of  dra- 
matic composition.  In  individual  cases,  no 
doubt  the  advice  is  sound;  but  to  urge  it  as  a 
general  recommendation  is  to  relegate  the  One- 
act  play  into  a  category  where  it  does  not 
belong.  There  is  not  a  writer  of  the  short- 
story,  with  all  its  richness  of  subject-matter 
and  technical  excellence,  but  would  resent  any 
insistence  that  the  prospective  novelist  would  do 
well  to  begin  on  the  short-story  as  a  stepping- 
stone  to  novel-writing.  The  short-story  is  a 
distinctive  type  unto  itself,  and  proficiency 
therein  is  no  guarantee  of  a  similar  result  in  the 


14    Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

novel  if  the  one  is  to  be  used  as  apprenticeship 
for  the  other.  Here  again  comparisons  are 
futile.  Indeed,  the  One-act  play,  like  the  short- 
story,  is  a  type  unto  itself ;  and  to  suggest  that 
the  prospective  playwright  use  the  One-act  play 
only  as  a  thing  on  which  to  practise  before  at- 
tempting the  larger  form,  is,  in  but  exceptional 
individual  cases,  almost  an  insult  to  the  type. 

Another  writer  of  a  recent  volume  on  drama- 
turgy, in  a  chapter  on  the  One-act  play,  says 
that  as  used  in  the  theatre  to-day  such  plays 
may  roughly  be  divided  "into  curtain-raisers, 
vaudeville  sketches,  and  a  third  class  suitable 
for  amateur  theatricals."  It  is  granted  that 
"playlets"  and  "dramatic  skits" — for  several 
centuries  too — have  frequently  been  used  thus, 
and  that  they  are  still  being  used  in  a  number 
of  places.  But  there  has  come  into  existence 
a  number  of  One-act  plays  that  are  not  curtain 
raisers,  not  vaudeville  sketches,  and  not  mate- 
rial merely  for  amateur  theatricals.  The  mere 
fact  that  a  good  One-act  play  does  appear  in 
these  capacities  is  in  itself  no  evidence  against 
the  play  of  lack  of  value.  Indeed,  many  con- 
temporary first-class  One-act  plays  do  reach 
these  places  and  some  have  their  origin  in  these 
ways ;  but  there  is  also  a  conspicuous  group 
that  have  not  had  their  origin  in  vaudeville  as 
such  and  have  not  appeared  in  more  or  less 
untoward  places.     On  the  contrary,  they  have 


The  Case  of  the  One- Act  Play     15 

been  presented  in  high-places  successfully  and 
have,  again  and  again,  received  the  plaudits  of 
the  multitude.  The  day  when  the  One-act  play 
is  to  be  used  only  as  a  "curtain-raiser,"  an 
"after-piece,"  a  "vaudeville  skit,"  or  "amateur 
theatricals,"  is  rapidly  coming  to  an  end;  not 
that  they  will  never  again  appear  there  but 
that  they  are  coming  unto  their  own  even  as  the 
short-story  has  come  unto  its  own.  Hermann 
Sudermann's  "Fritschen,"  Fenn  and  Price's 
"  'Op-o'-Me-Thumb,"  Paul  Hervieu's  "Mod- 
esty," Anton  Tchekov's  "A  Marriage  Pro- 
posal," Sir  James  M.  Barrie's  "The  Twelve- 
Pound  Look,"  John  Millington  Synge's  "Riders 
to  the  Sea,"  are  not  necessarily  conventional 
vaudeville  material ;  they  are  fore-runners  and 
examples  of  what  gives  promise  of  being  a  sig- 
nificant dramatic  product  of  a  not  far-off 
future. 

To-day,  the  greatest  obstacles  to  the  One- 
act  play  are  the  conventions  of  the  stage  and 
of  the  longer  forms  of  dramatic  writing.  The 
conventional  objection  that  an  audience  can- 
not easily  adjust  itself  to  the  changing  scenes 
of  a  bill  of  One-act  plays  for  an  evening's  per- 
formance is  ridiculous  and  not  founded  on 
psychological  fact.  One  has  yet  to  hear  a 
music-lover  report  that  he  was  unable  to  appre- 
ciate a  concert  of  miscellaneous  numbers  be- 
cause he  could  not  adjust  himself  psycholog- 


16    Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

ically  to  the  various  parts  of  the  programme. 
The  auditor  unconsciously  adjusts  himself,  and 
that,  too,  without  any  loss  of  appreciation. 
Any  theory  to  the  contrary  is  not  true  to  human 
experience.  Again,  so  far  as  careful  observa- 
tion and  detailed  inquiry  can  determine,  no 
vaudeville  audience  experiences  any  difficulty 
in  adjusting  itself  to  the  various  acts  of  a 
variety  bill.  A  theatre  audience  has  some- 
thing of  the  characteristics  of  a  crowd,  and,  as 
such,  is  always  wholly  receptive  to  any  stimu- 
lus, varied  and  changing  though  it  be.  Vaude- 
ville stunts  are  usually  so  complete  in  them- 
selves and  often  constructed  with  such  artistry 
that  each  part  has  the  effect  of  completeness  in 
itself;  accordingly,  the  mind  has  no  difficulty 
in  adjusting  itself  to  each  one  of  the  acts  as  it 
is  presented.  Whatever  bit  of  shock  there  may 
be  at  the  beginning  of  a  following  number,  it 
is  soon  forgotten  in  the  emotional  response  to 
the  matter  immediately  in  hand.  Even  in  a 
long  play  of  three  or  five  acts,  between  which 
there  are  the  respective  intermissions  and  inter- 
ruptions, one  experiences  little  difficulty  in  re- 
adjusting oneself  at  the  rise  of  each  curtain; 
and  this  is  true  not  only  in  plays  in  which  the 
story  is  not  told  in  direct  sequence  of  events, 
but  also  in  plays  between  the  acts  of  which  there 
are  often  long  lapses  of  time.  One-act  plays, 
when  well  done,  are  masterpieces  of  technical 


The  Case  of  the  One- Act  Play    17 

construction ;  they  are  individual  and  complete 
units ;  and  an  audience,  receptive  in  mind  rather 
than  reflective  and  active,  makes  adjustment  to 
any  change  with  little  conscious  effort.  In- 
deed, the  objection  to  an  evening  bill  of  One- 
act  plays,  on  the  ground  that  a  theatre  group 
is  not  able  easily  to  adjust  itself  to  the  several 
plays,  is  a  make-believe  and  conventional  one. 
It  is  not  true  to  the  psychological  facts  in  the 
case,  and  human  experience  disproves  it,  all 
pedantic  theories  to  the  contrary  notwith- 
standing. 

Another  objection  made  to  the  One-act  play 
is  the  conventional  one  that  it  is  too  small  to 
be  of  any  value.  Too  frequently  literary 
critics  have  been  almost  obsessed  with  the  idea 
that  bigness  or  large  complexity  are  the  first 
criteria  by  which  a  given  product  shall  be 
judged.  Indeed,  Milton  is  known  by  his 
"Paradise  Lost,"  not  by  his  "Comus"  and  minor 
poems ;  Dante,  by  his  "Divina  Commedia"  and 
not  by  his  supposedly  minor  products.  The 
sympathetic  student,  however,  knows  that  in 
many  cases  the  really  superior  values  do  not 
always  lie  in  the  large  products  of  a  man  of 
letters  but  often  in  the  smaller  and  more  highly 
artistic  bits  of  work.  Largeness  of  conception 
or  bigness  of  structure  are  in  themselves  no 
guarantee  of  literary  excellence.  A  literary 
product  is  essentially  a  work  of  art ;  whether 


18     Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

it  be  wrought  out  on  a  large  scale  or  on  a  small 
one  is  quite  another  matter.  The  lyric  is  quite 
as  much  an  art  form  as  is  the  epic.  The  cameo 
is  as  much  an  art  product  and  has  as  much 
claim  to  be  recognized  as  has  the  statue ;  the 
etching  is  often  superior  in  art  values  to  the 
larger  painting;  the  short-story  is  as  much  a 
literary  t^'pe  as  is  the  larger  novel ;  and  tlie 
One-act  play  must  not  be  lightly  thrown  aside 
just  because  it  happens  to  be  smaller  than  the 
three-act  form.  Art  of  any  kind  must  not  be 
judged  in  the  light  of  the  cult  of  mere  bigness. 

The  Technique  of  the  Oxe-act  Play 

The  One-act  play,  then,  needs  no  apology 
for  its  being.  In  its  finished  and  more  signifi- 
cant form  it  is  not  a  "playlet,"  nor  a  "sketch," 
nor  a  so-called  "skit,"  nor  a  play  that  is 
merely  short.  These  seldom  or  never  aim  at  a 
definite  and  unmistakable  unity  either  in  pur- 
pose or  in  construction ;  they  are  not  art.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  One-act  play  has  for  its  end 
a  singleness  of  impression — a  definite  artistic 
effect.  The  One-act  form  is  to  the  longer 
dramatic  piece  what  the  highly  developed  short- 
story  is  to  the  novel.  In  either  case,  the  two 
forms  have  much  in  common,  but  the  shorter 
types,  because  of  their  greater  economy  of 
means  and  material,  are  more  intent  upon  pro- 


The  Case  of  the  One- Act  Play    19 

ducing  the  singleness  of  effect  so  characteristic 
of  their  function. 

A  One-act  play  is  not  necessarily  short. 
Usually  it  is  rather  short  because  it  presents 
but  a  single  dramatic  situation  or  crisis  and 
because  it  aims  at  a  singleness  of  effect  in 
comparatively  short  compass.  While  economy 
of  material  and  of  time  are  always  considera- 
tions, the  length  of  the  One-act  piece  depends 
very  largely  upon  the  nature  of  the  dramatic 
situation  with  which  it  deals.  To  handle  it 
most  effectively  may  require  fifteen  pages  or 
fifty,  the  performance  thereof  may  require 
thirty  minutes  or  the  larger  part  of  an  hour. 
The  length  of  the  One-act  form  is  wholly  rela- 
tive. If  the  playwright,  in  constructing  his 
play,  keeps  in  mind  that  with  but  a  few  char- 
acters and  with  but  a  single  situation  wrought 
out  to  a  crucial  moment  and  that  with  the 
greatest  economy  of  material  and  means,  he  is 
to  secure  a  definite  and  single  dramatic  effect, 
the  length  of  the  play  will  not  go  far  wrong. 
The  material  and  purpose  of  Sir  James  M. 
Barrie's  "The  Twelve-Pound  Look"  are  some- 
what different  from  those  of  Mary  Aldis's 
"Extreme  Unction" ;  the  former  requires  some 
forty  pages  for  its  handling  while  the  latter 
needs  but  a  scarce  fifteen ;  and,  in  the  perform- 
ance thereof,  the  one  acts  for  the  better  part 
of    an    hour,    whereas    the    other    is    complete 


20    Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

within  thirty  or  thirty-five  minutes, — yet  both 
are  unmistakably  good  One-act  plays.  The 
One-act  form,  therefore,  is  not  circumscribed 
by  a  more  or  less  definite  and  conventional  time 
limit  as  is  the  three-act  form. 

Technically  considered,  the  One-act  play  is 
just  as  much  a  distinctive  dramatic  problem  as 
is  the  longer  form.  In  either  case,  the  play- 
wright aims  so  to  handle  his  material  as  to 
provoke  interest  and  emotional  response  from 
the  audience.  Since  the  one  form  is  character- 
istically shorter  than  the  other  and  since  the 
one  is,  because  of  the  shorter  time  and  space 
at  its  disposal,  obliged  to  exercise,  to  the  high- 
est degree,  economy  of  material  and  of  means,  it 
follows  that,  while  both  may  have  much  in  com- 
mon, the  dramaturgy  of  the  one  is  somewhat 
different  from  that  of  the  other.  The  One-act 
form  must,  as  it  were,  be  presented  in  a  "single 
sitting" ;  it  must  start  at  the  beginning  with 
certain  definite  elements  and  pass  quickly  and 
effectively  to  the  end  without  a  halt  or  a  digres- 
sion. In  the  three-act  play  there  is  often  some- 
thing of  a  break  in  the  sequence.  The  longer 
form,  composed  as  it  is  of  three,  four  or  five 
acts,  is  conceived  in  a  series  of  units  each  one 
of  which  bears  on  the  larger  encompassing 
theme.  Each  act  has  its  own  dramatic  value 
and  likewise  has  its  own  dramatic  relation  to 
the  whole  play.     In  the  case  of  the  One-act 


The  Case  of  the  One- Act  Play    21 

piece,  there  is  but  one  consideration — the  mate- 
rial and  method  immediately  in  hand.  To  con- 
struct one  building  so  as  to  procure  a  unified 
and  artistic  effect  is  one  problem ;  and  to  con- 
struct several,  each  one  of  which  is  something 
of  a  problem  in  itself,  and  at  the  same  time  to 
arrange  them  in  a  group  that  will  produce  a 
unity  of  impression,  is  another  and  different 
consideration.  The  One-act  play,  like  the 
short-story,  has  a  technique  characteristically 
its  own. 

Not  only  is  the  technical  problem  in  the  One- 
act  form  distinct  from  that  of  the  three-act 
form,  it  is  also,  in  many  ways,  more  exacting 
and  more  difficult.  The  play  must  begin  at 
once,  and,  with  but  a  minimum  of  exposition, 
must  get  under  way  and  move  rapidly  and  effec- 
tively to  a  crucial  moment,  and  must  terminate 
at  the  psychologically  opportune  time.  Though 
the  time  and  space  are  relatively  limited,  the 
dramatic  picture  and  situation  must  be  com- 
plete in  itself;  there  must  be  a  singleness  of 
impression.  Whatever  is  done  must  be  done 
quickly,  deftly,  and  with  a  master  hand.  The 
One-act  play  is,  at  its  best,  the  most  finished, 
the  most  artistic,  and  the  most  closely  wrought 
of  dramatic  forms.  It  thus  manifests  a  higher 
art  and  perfection  of  technique  than  the  longer 
play  and  equals  the  best  drama  in  constructive 
excellence.     Technique,  therefore,  is  one  of  its 


22    Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

prime  considerations ;  and  therein  lies  one  of  its 
difficult  problems. 

The  One-act  play  is  well-made  or  it  is  nothing 
at  all.  Drama  of  any  kind,  when  really  effec- 
tive, is  usually  well-made.  A  careful  analysis 
of  Sir  James  M.  Barrie's  "The  Twelve-Pound 
Look,"  Lord  Dunsany's  "The  Lost  Silk  Hat," 
Paul  Hervieu's  "Modesty,"  George  Cram  Cook 
and  Susan  Glaspell's  "Suppressed  Desires,"  and 
William  Butler  Yeats's  "The  Hour-Glass,"  will 
reveal  that  these  representative  One-act  plays 
are  not  only  well-made  but  are  also  genuine 
art.  A  good  One-act  play  is  not  a  mere  me- 
chanical tour  de  force:  mechanics  and  artistry 
it  has  of  course,  but  it  is  also  a  bit  of  real 
dramatic  art.  A  finished  cameo  is  quite  as 
much  a  work  of  art  as  is  the  finished  statue ;  yet 
both  have  mechanics  and  design  in  their  struc- 
ture ;  and  probably  those  of  the  cameo  are  more 
deft  and  more  highly  specialized  than  those  of 
the  full-sized  statue,  because  the  work  has  been 
done  under  more  restricted  conditions.  The 
One-act  play  is  to  the  longer  dramatic  form 
what  the  delicately  wrought  cameo  is  to  the 
statue;  and  just  in  proportion  as  the  cameo 
requires  much  more  delicate  workmanship  than 
does  the  statue,  so  the  One-act  play  must  be 
well-made  or  the  chances  are  that  it  will  not  be 
a  genuine  art  product. 

Naturally  the  material  of  the  One-act  form 


The  Case  of  the  One- Act  Play    23 

is  somewhat  episodical.  No  whole  life's  story 
can  be  treated  adequately,  no  complex  plot  can 
be  entertained.  Unlike  the  longer  form,  it 
shows  not  the  whole  man — except  by  passing 
hint — but  a  significant  moment  or  experience, 
a  significant  character-trait.  However  vividly 
this  chosen  moment  may  be  interpreted, — and 
the  One-act  pla}'  must  be  vivid, — much  will  still 
be  left  to  the  imagination.  It  is  the  aim  of 
the  One-act  form  to  trace  the  causal  relations 
of  but  one  circumstance,  so  that  this  circum- 
stance may  be  intensified  and  significant.  The 
writer  of  the  One-act  play  isolates  so  that  he 
may  throw  the  strong  flash-light  more  search- 
ingly  on  some  one  significant  event,  on  some 
fundamental  element  of  character,  on  some 
moving  emotion.  He  deliberately  presents  in 
a  vigorous,  compressed,  and  suggestive  way,  a 
simplification  and  idealization  of  a  particular 
part  or  aspect  of  life.  He  often  opens  but  a 
momentary  little  vista  of  life,  but  it  is  so  clear- 
cut  and  so  significant  that  a  whole  life  is  often 
revealed  thereby. 

It  must  not  be  thought  that  because  the  One- 
act  play  deals  with  but  one  crisis  or  situation, 
it  is  weak  and  inconsequential;  on  the  contrary, 
since  only  one  event  or  situation  can  be  empha- 
sized, it  follows  that  the  writer  is  obliged  to 
choose  the  one  determining  crisis  which  makes 
or  mars   the   supreme   struggle   of  a   soul,  the 


24    Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

one  great  change  or  turning-point  or  end  of  a 
life-history.  Such  moments  are  the  really  vital 
material  for  drama ;  nothing  affords  more  won- 
derful opportunity  for  striking  analysis,  for 
emotional  stress,  for  the  suggestion  of  a  whole 
character  sketched  in  the  act  of  meeting  its 
test.  To  segregate  a  bit  of  significant  experi- 
ence and  to  present  a  finished  picture  of  its 
aspects  and  effects ;  to  dissect  a  motive  so 
searching  and  skilful  that  its  very  roots  are 
laid  bare;  to  detach  a  single  figure  from  a 
dramatic  sequence  and  portray  a  sketch  of  its 
character;  to  bring  a  series  of  actions  into 
clear  light  in  a  sudden  and  brief  human  crisis ; 
to  tell  a  significant  story  briefly  and  with  sug- 
gestion ;  to  portray  the  humor  of  a  person  or 
an  incident,  or  in  a  trice,  to  reveal  the  touch  of 
tragedy  resting  like  the  finger  of  fate  on  an 
experience  or  on  a  character — these  are  some 
of  the  possibilities  of  the  One-act  play  when 
handled  by  a  master  dramatist. 

This  shorter  dramatic  form,  which  is  so  ef- 
fectively challenging  attention,  is  cunningly 
wrought.  In  the  hands  of  a  novice  it  becomes 
weak  and  flabby;  in  the  hands  of  a  master 
workman  it  surpasses  the  short-story  in  value 
and  possibilities.  From  first  to  last,  it  must  be 
direct,  concrete,  highly  concentrated,  forceful, 
and  closely  wielded.  Because  of  its  strict  tech- 
nical requirements,  it  has  developed  a  regular- 


The  Case  of  the  One- Act  Play    25 

:ty  and  definiteness  of  constructive  technique 
almost  unknown  to  the  other  dramatic  forms. 
Nowhere  else  must  the  literary  artist  be  so  con- 
scious of  his  method  of  workmanship  as  in  the 
One-act  play.  Even  the  sonnet  in  its  most 
perfect  form  does  not  surpass  it.  Economy  of 
material  and  method  and  subtlety  of  treatment 
are  essential  to  the  singleness  of  effect  sought. 
This  constructive  regularity  of  structure  is, 
however,  not  a  hindrance  to  beauty  or  to  gen- 
uine power ;  all  this  but  lends  the  charm  of  per- 
fection. The  sonnet  and  the  cameo  are  admir- 
able if  for  no  other  reason  than  their  superior 
workmanship.  The  One-act  play  does  not  lose 
by  any  reason  of  its  technical  requirements ; 
indeed  this  is  one  of  its  greatest  assets  and 
possibilities. 

The  One-act  play  is  before  us  whether  we  will 
or  no ;  it  is  presenting  its  claim  for  recognition 
as  a  specific  dramatic  form.  Its  possibilities 
are  as  much  greater  than  those  of  the  short- 
story  as  the  drama  is  superior  to  the  novel.  At 
present  the  greatest  obstacles  to  its  full  devel- 
opment and  acceptance  are  the  traditions  and 
conventions  of  the  longer  dramatic  form. 
Notwithstanding  this,  professional  dramatists, 
actors,  stage  managers,  and  devotees  of  the 
drama  have  not  hesitated  to  make  use  of  the 
shorter  form.  Moreover,  the  zealous  activities, 
in  the  One-act  play,  of  high-class  amateurs  and 


26    Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

semi-professionals  in  clubs,  in  Little  Theatres, 
and  in  universities,  are  a  most  encouraging  and 
healthful  indication.  The  One-act  play  asks 
for  but  one  thing, — opportunity  for  develop- 
ment! 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  DRAMATIST  AND   HIS  AUDIENCE 

Relation  Between  the  Dramatist  and  His 

Public 

Any  one  who  has  critically  studied  or  has 
witnessed  performances  of  such  One-act  plays 
as  George  Middleton's  "Criminals,"  Marion 
Craig  Wentworth's  "War  Brides,"  William 
Butler  Yeats's  "Cathleen  ni  Hoolihan,"  Her- 
mann Sudermann's  "Fritschen,"  August  Strind- 
berg's  "Countess  Julie,"  Anton  Tchekov's  "A 
Marriage  Proposal,"  Zona  Gale's  "Neighbors," 
Giuseppe  Giacosa's  "The  Wager,"  or  George 
Cram  Cook  and  Susan  Glaspell's  "Suppressed 
Desires,"  cannot  but  be  impressed  with  their 
appropriateness  in  subject  matter  and  in  tech- 
nique to  the  audiences  for  which  they  were 
written.  The  sentiments  expressed,  the  motives 
revealed,  the  emotional  values  and  the  attitudes 
toward  life  portrayed,  and  likewise  the  methods 
of  workmanship,  are  characteristic  in  each  little 
play. 

When  Clayton  Hamilton  asserted  that  "A 
play  is  a  story  devised  to  be  presented  by  actors 

27 


28    Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

on  a  stage  before  an  audience",  ^  he  uttered  a 
precept  that  must  be  taken  seriously  by  every 
virile  playwright,  whether  professional  or  ama- 
teur. The  dramatist  who  is  devising  a  story 
other  than  for  presentation  before  an  audience, 
is  not  writing  a  play  in  the  practical  drama- 
turgic sense;  whatever  else  it  may  be,  it  is  not 
a  play.  A  play  is  a  story  of  human  life  so 
conceived  and  so  handled  as  to  arouse  the  at- 
tention and  to  provoke  the  emotional  response 
of  a  group  of  people  who  have  assembled  to 
witness  a  presentation  of  it.  The  materials 
that  are  put  into  a  novel  to  be  read  by  indi- 
viduals, and  the  materials  that  are  put  into  a 
play  which  is  to  appeal  to  a  group  of  spectators 
are  often  very  different  matters ;  and  the 
methods  employed  in  either  case  are,  likewise, 
essentially  different.  A  thorough  knowledge  of 
the  psychological  characteristics  of  an  assem- 
bled group  and  a  sympathetic  acquaintance 
with  the  basic  emotions  of  human  life  are  among 
the  most  important  considerations  for  the  play- 
wright. He  may,  in  part,  ignore  his  public,  or 
he  may  not  make  the  most  of  his  knowledge  of 
its  make-up ;  but  to  be  wholly  ignorant  of  it 
will  spell  failure  to  the  practical  aspect  of  his 
work. 

The   popular   professional   dramatist   knows 
from  experience  that  a  knowledge  of  his  audi- 
1  The  italics  are  the  author's. 


The  Dramatist  and  His  Audience    29 

ence  is  a  fundamental  asset  in  dramaturgy ;  the 
amateur,  then,  should,  with  sympathy  and  with 
zest,  set  himself  to  the  task  of  understanding 
his  public.  He  must  ever  keep  in  mind  that 
he,  as  a  playwright,  is  obliged  to  produce  some 
kind  of  effect  upon  the  assembled  group ;  he 
is  obliged  to  present  material  in  such  a  way 
that  it  will  provoke  the  very  response  that  he 
desires  to  get.  To  know  how  to  handle  a  story, 
to  know  how  to  produce  a  dramatic  effect,  is 
a  very  fundamental  aspect  of  technique;  but 
to  know  beforehand  what  kind  of  effect  will 
coincide  with  the  very  life  interests  of  the  very 
audience  for  which  he  writes,  demands  that  he 
know  intimately  the  nature  of  the  social  group 
from  which  his  hearers  come.  No  matter  what 
may  be  the  dramatist's  point  of  view,  it  must 
be  remembered  that  the  public  has  one  too, — 
and  it  may  not  be  the  same  one. 

The  amateur  dramatist,  however,  must  not 
take  this  to  mean  that  he  is  at  the  absolute 
mercy  of  the  passing  changes  and  chance  whims 
of  a  given  social  group.  These  are  ephemeral 
fancies  which  may  characterize  any  given  audi- 
ence. The  dramatist,  however,  who  really 
understands  his  craftsmanship  is  not  led  astray 
by  the  accidental  tendencies  of  the  day ;  but  he 
does  take  note  of  those  things  which  are  vital 
in  human  activity,  although  manifestations  of 
them    oftentimes     appear     in     aspects    of    the 


30    Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

ephemeral  and  the  exterior.  Every  active 
playwright,  without  being  too  free  in  their  use, 
makes  the  most  of  the  conventions  and  practices 
of  the  day;  but  the  material  of  his  drama,  the 
stuff  that  is  the  source  of  his  real  effect,  has  to 
do  with  the  deeper  and  more  abiding  forces 
which  characterize  human  life  and  the  very  pub- 
lic for  which  he  writes. 

Though  the  dramatist  must  needs  have  an 
understanding  of  his  fellow  men,  and  must  have 
toleration  and  above  all  sympathy  with  their 
interests  and  activities,  and  must  ever  consider 
the  opinions  and  prejudices  of  the  playgoers,  he 
is  under  no  undue  strain  when  he  does  this. 
He,  himself,  is  part  and  parcel  of  the  very  life 
which  he  portrays  and  reveals ;  he  is  a  member 
of  his  own  public,  shares  their  likes  and  dis- 
likes, and  is  characterized  by  the  same  traits, 
tendencies,  and  peculiarities.  His  interests  are 
their  interests ;  his  humanity,  their  humanity ; 
and  his  purpose  as  a  dramatist  is  to  reveal 
themselves  to  themselves.  He  must  know  thor- 
oughly the  very  men  and  women  whom  he  hopes 
to  see  flocking  to  the  performance  of  his  play. 
He  can  induce  his  public  to  attend  only  when 
he  reveals  to  them  those  things  with  which  they 
themselves  have  acquaintance  and  sympathy ; 
and  to  do  that  he  must  have  knowledge  of  the 
social  group  for  which  he  writes. 


The  Dramatist  and  His  Audience    31 


Motives  for  Theatre  Attendance 

The  popular  playwright  cannot  select  his 
audience:  he  cannot  go  out  into  the  byways 
and  hedges  and  choose  his  hearers;  he  must 
submit  his  work  before  whosoever  may  come  to 
see.  On  the  whole,  he  does  not  and  cannot  ap- 
peal to  the  individual;  he  must  appeal  to  the 
assembled  group.  Moreover,  the  assembled 
group  is  in  a  specific  place — a  theatre — tradi- 
tionally known  as  a  place  for  amusement.  Ac- 
cordingly, he  has  an  audience  of  all  classes  and 
conditions  of  men  and  women  before  him,  who 
have  come  to  the  play  for  many  and  various 
reasons. 

Careful  surveys  have  shown  that  by  far  the 
largest  percentage  of  a  given  theatre  audience 
is  present  to  be  amused  and  entertained ;  yet  it 
is  interesting  to  note  the  various  individual 
reasons  for  attending  a  play.  Many  a  business 
man  attends  because  he  wants  a  change,  because 
he  wants  to  get  away  from  the  cares,  struggles, 
and  ennui  of  routine  in  strenuous  business  ac- 
tivities. He  wants  something  refreshing  and 
entertaining.  Another  goes,  because  he  wants 
a  good  laugh;  he  is  eager  for  the  optimism  of 
life.  Other  folk,  especially  the  younger  ones, 
want  to  see  a  moving  story  of  romantic  life,  of 
youth,    of    love    and    sentiment,    with    all    its 


32     Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

warmth  and  spontaneity ;  they  want  to  see  a 
struggle  of  youth,  one  in  which  some  worthy 
young  man  overcomes  great  odds  and  wins  the 
buxom  and  vivacious  lassie.  They  desire  to 
have  their  emotions  appealed  to,  just  as  the 
more  sentimental  woman  likes  to  go  to  see  a  play 
so  that  thereafter  she  may  have  a  good  cry, — 
as  in  the  case  of  a  woman  who  delib€rately 
attended  "The  Bird  of  Paradise"  and  for  a 
week  thereafter,  upon  her  own  testimony,  every 
day,  at  one  o'clock,  had  a  good  cry  about  it. 
On  the  other  hand,  some  attend  the  theatre 
to  see  the  star — Maude  Adams  in  "  'Op-o'-Me- 
Thumb,"  John  Drew  in  "The  Will,"  Nazimova 
in  "War  Brides,"  Ethel  Barrymore  in  "The 
Twelve-Pound  Look,"  Mrs.  Fiske  in  "The  Green 
Cockatoo,"  Sarah  Padden  in  "The  Clod"— 
sometimes  because  they  really  appreciate  good 
acting  or  because  certain  actors  are  their  per- 
sonal favorites,  and  sometimes  because  they  wish 
to  be  able  to  tell  their  friends  that  they  have 
seen  such  and  such  a  player  in  such  and  such  a 
role. 

Investigation  has  revealed  that  other  reasons 
for  attendance  at  plays,  many  of  them  seem- 
ingly less  significant,  are  given  by  various  men 
and  women.  One  woman  is  reported  to  have 
attended  plays  because  she  could  see  stylish 
gowns  and  that  she  had  preferred  "The  Thief" 
to  "A  Doll's  House,"  because  in  the  former  the 


The  Dramatist  and  His  Audience    83 

leading  lady  appeared  in  three  different  beau- 
tiful gowns,  whereas,  in  the  latter  play,  the 
leading  character  appeared  throughout  in  the 
same  every-day  dress.  Some  men  attend  be- 
cause their  wives  wish  escorts — and  they  have 
to  go  along ;  or  perhaps  they  may  be  chivalrous 
as  was  Pepys,  a  devotee  of  the  theatre,  who,  in 
his  Diary,  records  that  he  had  to  take  his  wife 
to  the  play, — "She,  poor  fool,  having  nothing 
better  to  do."  Certain  social  sets  attend  be- 
cause it  is  the  mode ;  and,  in  one  extreme  case, 
a  woman  asserted,  "We  have  to  keep  up  appear- 
ances." One  young  man,  when  asked  why  he 
went  to  the  theatre,  casually  replied,  "Why,  I 
must  have  some  place  to  go,  and  why  not  go 
there  .^"  Whether  the  playwright  would  have 
it  thus  or  no,  these  are  some  of  the  motives 
which  prompt  individuals  to  attend  the  theatre 
and  if  he  wishes  to  appeal  to  this  group  he  will 
have  to  take  these  reasons  into  account  when 
he  writes  his  play. 

Whatever  else  may  be  said  about  these  types 
of  theatre-goers,  it  is  important  to  note  that 
most  of  them  are  not  predisposed  to  be  insistent 
as  to  what  they  are  going  to  do  or  how  they 
are  going  to  feel  when  they  get  into  the  play- 
house. Practically  each  one  is  in  a  wholly 
receptive  mood,  is  ready  to  see  and  to  hear,  and 
is  eager  to  be  interested  and  entertained  by 
anything  that  will  appeal.      "The  normal  audi- 


34    Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

ence,"  says  Hartley  Davis,  "enters  the  theatre 
in  a  receptive  mood.  It  is  prepared,  without 
an  individual  consciousness  of  the  fact,  to  have 
its  emotions  stirred  by  intelligent  exaggera- 
tion." 

In  none  of  the  books  and  magazine  articles 
containing  material  on  the  psychology  of  the 
theatre  audience  has  this  initial  receptivity  of 
the  assembled  group  been  sufficiently  empha- 
sized. The  spectators  in  the  playhouse,  before 
the  play  begins,  are  a  heterogeneous  group  of 
persons  practically  unconscious  of  themselves 
and  almost  wholly  in  a  neutral  state  of  mental 
and  emotional  functioning.  They  do  not  rec- 
ognize a  common  interest,  and  are  not  aware 
of  any  particular  unifying  motive.  They  are 
in  a  condition  of  more  or  less  unstimulated 
receptivity;  but  the  moment  the  play  begins 
there  is  a  community  of  interest  which  unites 
this  heterogeneous  group  into  a  more  or  less  well 
defined  homogeneous  unit  motivated  largely  by 
the  one  stimulus — the  play  upon  the  stage. 
The  audience,  unconsciously  of  course,  gives 
itself  over  almost  wholly  to  the  bidding  of  the 
dramatist :  here  is  his  opportunity,  if  he  is  a 
skilled  workman  who  knows  the  motive  forces  of 
life,  to  seize  upon  the  emotions  of  the  assembled 
group  and  to  sway  them  as  he  will,  to  make  them 
think,  feel  and  want  to  do  and  be. 


The  Dramatist  and  His  Audience    35 

Emotional  Characteristics  of  an  Audience 

The  practical  playwright,  as  he  studies  his 
audience,  discovers  that  it  has  mental  and  emo- 
tional traits  characteristic  of  assembled  groups 
of  whatsoever  kind,  poUtical,  religious,  sport,  or 
what  you  will.  One  of  the  most  interesting  of 
theatre  phenomena  is  the  sudden  change,  the 
moment  the  play  begins,  of  the  assembled  group 
from  an  unmotivated,  ununified,  heterogeneous 
group  to  an  assemblage  that  is  motivated  by  a 
more  or  less  common  impulse,  unified,  and  homo- 
geneous. Immediately,  if  the  play  be  at  all  of 
moment  and  significance,  the  audience  assumes  a 
personahty  of  its  own — a  personahty  which  is 
the  average  of  the  mental  and  emotional  quaH- 
ties  of  the  assembled  persons.  So  long  as  the 
stimulus  is  strong  enough  and  sufficiently  in- 
teresting, the  group  may  be  led  as  a  host  is  led 
by  a  single  leader.  It  may  be  led  to  laugh  or 
to  cry ;  to  shout  its  approval  or  to  utter  its  con- 
demnation; it  may  be  led  into  the  depths  of 
despair  or  it  may  be  exalted  into  an  apprecia- 
tion of  things  universal.  The  assembly  of  spec- 
tators has  something  of  a  soul  of  its  own,  which 
is  a  composite  average  *    of  all  the  individual 

*Le  Bon,  in  his  "Psychology  of  the  Crowd,"  takes  a 
somewhat  different  point  of  view.  Le  Bon's  point  of 
view  is  ardently  shared  by  Clayton  Hamilton  in  "The 
Theory  of  the  Theatre,"  Chapter  ii,  The  Psychology  of 
Theatre   Audiences. 


36    Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

minds  assembled ;  and,  having  a  soul  of  its  own, 
acts  and  responds  largely  as  a  unit,  as  if  it 
were  one  individual. 

Again,  the  practical  dramatist  learns  that 
however  intellectual  a  man  may  be  outside  the 
theatre,  he  by  no  means  continues  to  the  full 
this  highly  intellectual  functioning  after  he  be- 
comes a  part  of  the  assembled  group  and 
responds  to  the  play  on  the  stage.  In  becoming 
a  part  of  the  theatre  audience  he  very  largely 
merges  his  being  into  the  personality  of  the 
multitude.  He  no  longer  acts  as  a  highly  in- 
tellectual individual,  but  as  a  more  or  less  sym- 
pathetic participant  in  the  larger  and  more  sig- 
nificant emotional  functionings  of  the  audience 
of  which  he  is  an  organic  part.  His  moods,  his 
ideas,  his  feelings  are  determined  very  largely 
by  those  of  the  audience  rather  than  by  his  own 
initial  volition.  If  the  stimulus  of  the  play  pro- 
vokes the  laughter  of  the  assembled  group,  he 
laughs  with  it ;  if  it  leads  the  multitude  to  tears, 
he  weeps  too.  Whatever  be  the  mental  or  emo- 
tional values  provoked  in  the  audience,  he  func- 
tions in  pretty  much  the  same  way. 

The  theatre  audience  is  largely  emotional 
rather  than  highly  intellectual.  Much  of  the 
culture  and  polish  of  education  and  of  social 
activity  are,  for  the  time  being,  somewhat  less 
prominent ;  the  restraint  of  the  conventions  of 
life  is   removed,  and  the  individual  falls  back 


The  Dramatist  and  His  Audience    37 

upon  the  broad  motives  and  tendencies  charac- 
teristic of  human  life  in  its  essence.  From  the 
point  of  view  of  intellectual  standards  of  edu- 
cation, he  has  descended  several  rungs  in  the 
ladder  of  purely  mental  values.  The  appeal  is 
no  longer  to  be  made  primarily  to  his  highly 
developed  logical  sense;  the  appeal  must  be 
made,  in  large  measure,  to  his  fundamental  emo- 
tions which  are,  of  course,  in  these  modern 
days,  somewhat  tempered  and  refined  by  the 
training  of  previous  generations. 

The  practical  dramatist,  then,  who  desires 
to  become  a  popular  playwright,  in  the  proper 
acceptation  of  the  term,  must  appeal  to  the 
fundamental  emotions  of  the  group ;  that  is,  to 
the  basic  and  vital  emotions  of  the  human  race. 
Love,  devotion,  sacrifice,  fidelity  to  a  trust, 
patriotism,  duty,  anger,  jealousy,  revenge,  love 
of  home,  love  of  family,  love  of  woman,  mater- 
nity and  motherhood, — these  are  some  of  the 
motives  which  impel  men  and  women  to  struggle 
and  to  attain.  These  are  the  material  of  drama. 
However  much  the  accidents  of  life  and  the 
conventions  of  the  day  may  appear  in  a  play, 
they  are  merely  externals :  the  thing  that  makes 
the  play  worth  while  is  the  vital  emotional  value 
in  liuman  character.  The  externals  in  Middle- 
ton's  "Criminals"  are  of  little  consequence; 
but  the  idea  that  the  happiness  of  a  girl's  mar- 
ried life  may  be  placed  in  jeopardy  because  she 


38    Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

is  innocent  and  ignorant,  until  her  wedding  day, 
of  the  physical  facts  of  life — because  her  fond 
parents  have  not  told  her  what  she  should  have 
known, — is  of  vital  significance.  The  details 
and  setting  of  "War  Brides"  are  rather  ephem- 
eral; but  the  precept  that  motherhood  and 
marriage  are  sacred  and  that  children  should 
be  begotten  in  love  and  devotion  rather  than  be 
born  into  the  world  because  of  brutal  military 
expediency,  is,  again,  as  significant  and  vital  as 
life  itself. 

Although  the  dramatist  cannot  select  his 
audience,  he  must  not  think  that  he  is  obliged 
to  appeal  to  the  emotional  natures  of  a  group 
of  heartless  wretches  of  the  street  who  revel 
in  blood  and  intrigue  or  of  the  commonplace  of 
every-day  life  who  respond  only  to  melodra- 
matic spectacle.  A  theatre  audience  is  not  the 
residue  or  dregs  of  society;  nor  is  it  the  elite, 
the  cultivated,  the  wealthy,  or  the  chosen  few. 
An  audience  in  the  playhouse  is  composed  of 
the  large  general  average  of  all  classes  of  society 
with  a  sprinkling  here  and  there  of  the  vaga- 
bond on  the  one  hand  and  the  few  elite  on  the 
other.  The  theatre  group  must  not  be  confused 
with  the  crowd  or  with  the  mob;  it  is  repre- 
sentative of  neither  the  upper  nor  the  lower 
strata  of  society,  but  is  an  average  of  the  com- 
munity.    It  is   not   a   characteristically   intel- 


The  Dramatist  and  His  Audience    39 

lectual  group ;  on  the  contrary,  it  is  emotional 
and  richly  human. 

The  Interests  of  an  Audience 

The  highly  mental  activities  of  the  theatre 
group  are  comparatively  few.  The  dramatist 
must  realize  that  he  is  not  writing  to  provoke 
mental  functioning  but  to  stimulate  emotional 
response.  He  must  keep  in  mind  that  an  audi- 
ence is  fundamentally  and  richly  human.  It  is, 
on  one  occasion,  enthusiastic  in  approbation, 
and,  on  another,  vehement  in  disapproval;  and 
both  manifestations  often  occur  without  any 
particular  reason.  On  the  whole,  it  is  neither 
reasonable  nor  judicious;  seldom  does  it  analyze 
or  deduce  a  logical  conclusion.  Usually  it 
merely  feels  strongly  one  way  or  another.  It 
is  generously  primitive  and  thoroughly  human ; 
it  often  loves  and  hates  as  unreasonably  and  as 
uncompromisingly  as  a  child.  If  the  dramatist 
wishes  his  audience  to  feel  strongly  one  way  or 
another  about  a  given  theme,  he  must  take  the 
initiative  in  the  construction  of  his  play  and 
deftly  lead  them  to  think  and  feel  as  he  would 
have  them.  This  is  the  dramatist's  problem ; 
and,  likewise,  this  is  his  opportunity  to  teach 
the  race. 

Not  only  is  an  audience  often  unreasonable 
in  its  passions  and  wanting  in   a  tendency   to 


40    Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

judge  logically,  it  is  also  generally  childlike  in 
its  credulity.  It  is  usually  carelessly  unthink- 
ing and  accepts  without  demur  or  question  al- 
most anything  that  the  dramatist  offers.  It 
will  believe  nearly  all  it  hears  and  everything  it 
sees.  The  more  the  playwright  can  tell  his 
story  in  objective  and  concrete  physical  action 
and  pantomime  the  more  likely  he  is  to  succeed. 
What  the  audience  hears  told,  it  must  take  for 
granted ;  but  what  it  sees  actually  takes  place, 
and  there  can  be  no  question  about  it.  The 
human  eye  is  unerring;  and  an  impression  once 
recorded  by  it  is  conclusive,  and  is  indelibly 
fixed  in  the  dramatic  sequence  of  events.  While 
it  is  obviously  better  dramaturgy  to  reveal  the 
story  through  concrete  pictures,  the  audience 
does  not  hesitate  to  accept  any  plausible  thing 
that  the  dramatist  may  tell  it.  This  is  particu- 
larly applicable  to  the  premises  or  conditions 
antecedent  to  the  opening  of  the  play. 

In  1893,  Brunetiere  ^  came  forth  with  his 
well-known  theory  that  the  basis  of  all  drama  is 
a  struggle,  a  conflict,  and  that  without  this 
struggle  there  can  be  no  play.  Brander  Mat- 
thews ^  has  been  an  able  champion  of  this  thesis, 
whereas  William  Archer  ^  has  sought  to  show 

*  English  translation,  with  Introduction  by  Henry  Ar- 
thur Jones,  is  published  by  the  Dramatic  Museum  of 
Columbia  University. 

*"The  Development  of  the  Drama,"  Chapter  i. 

»  "Play-Makinp,"  Chapter  iii. 


The  Dramatist  and  His  Audience    41 

that  this  law  is  by  no  means  universal  in  drama. 
In  fact  he  would  have  us  believe  that  in  some 
plays  there  is  but  little  struggle  between  con- 
tending forces,  or  sometimes  none  at  all.  What- 
ever be  the  merits  of  the  two  points  of  view,  an 
assemblage  of  any  kind  is  never  more  interested 
in  anything  than  it  is  in  a  struggle  or  conflict 
of  one  sort  or  another.  A  sense  of  struggle  is  a 
fundamental  biological  principle  of  human  life: 
struggle  and  contention  against  obstacles  is 
the  very  stuff  of  existence.  So  far  as  human 
experience  goes,  it  begins  at  birth  and  ends  at 
death ;  it  obtained  at  the  beginning  of  the 
race  and  has  continued  until  the  present  mo- 
ment. Moreover,  it  is  one  of  the  most  vital 
things  the  future  has  to  offer;  the  struggle  of 
to-morrow  is  a  matter  of  thought  for  to-day. 
The  function  of  a  dramatist  is  to  appeal  to 
his  public  in  terms  of  their  own  experience;  for 
this  reason,  there  is  nothing  that  is  so  interest- 
ing to  an  assembled  group  as  the  presentation 
of  forces  and  characters  coming  to  the  grapple 
for  superiority, — action,  situation,  climax,  vic- 
tory ! 

Moreover,  since  human  beings  inherently  are 
interested  in  struggle  and  conflict  and  since  they 
are,  in  the  light  of  their  experiences,  in  a  posi- 
tion to  understand  values  in  contending  forces, 
an  audience  is  usually  more  or  less  partisan.  In 
no  sense  is  it  a  disinterested  on-looker;  it  in- 


42    Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

stinctively  wants  its  favored  motives  and  char- 
acters to  win.  Certain  principles  and  senti- 
ments in  life  are  to  it  wholly  right;  others  are 
wholly  wrong,  and  the  audience  is  not  inclined 
to  compromise.  When  forces  and  characters 
come  to  the  grapple,  the  attitude  of  the  spec- 
tators is  always  true  to  their  inherited  ex- 
periences. Whenever  the  dramatist,  because  of 
intent  or  because  of  ignorance,  goes  contrary- 
wise  to  this  instinct  and  experience,  he  is  at 
once  branded  as  being  untrue  to  life.  Expe- 
rience has  also  taught  the  race  that  one  force 
or  another  always  wins  out.  As  a  result,  the 
spectators  want  their  ideals  and  motives  trium- 
phant, and  are  not  satisfied  unless  they  do  win 
out.  There  is  good  psychology'  for  the  pro- 
verbial "happy  ending,"  and,  while  it  may  not 
always  be  true  to  every-day  life,  it  is  true  to  the 
total  human  experience  of  the  race. 

From  the  point  of  view  of  externals,  probably 
nothing  is  so  much  to  the  likes  of  an  audience 
as  spectacle;  color,  display,  pomp,  parade — 
things  that  are  perceived  by  the  eye.  Pageant- 
ry, dress,  properties,  regalia,  color  schemes, 
and  lighting  effects,  always  appeal.  The  mod- 
em settings  of  Bakst,  Appia,  Fuchs,  and  a 
dozen  others,  are  interesting  for  their  color  and 
play  of  light,  if  for  no  other  reason.  Livingston 
Piatt's  setting  for  the  Marion  Morgan  dancers 
is  quite  as  interesting  as  the  dances  themselves. 


The  Dramatist  and  His  Audience    43 

At  Cornell  University,  "A  Game  of  Chess"  was 
staged  in  blacks  and  whites  with  unusual  artis- 
tic and  dramatic  effects.  The  dress  suits  and 
evening  gowns  of  Alfred  Sutro's  "The  Bracelet" 
and  "The  Correct  Thing"  not  only  give  a  cer- 
tain fineness  of  tone  to  the  play  but  also  are 
attractive  because  of  the  decorum. 

One  other  interesting  aspect  of  the  emotional 
and  psychological  nature  of  an  assembled  group 
is  its  susceptibility  to  emotional  contagion. 
There  is  scarcely  a  playgoer  who  has  not  had 
the  experience  of  being  provoked  to  laughter  be- 
cause some  one  near  him  burst  forth  into  spon- 
taneous expressions  of  pleasure ;  and  every 
theatre-goer  knows  how  difficult  it  is  to  keep 
down  the  lump  in  the  throat  when  a  neighbor 
in  the  theatre  is  sobbing  during  a  pathetic 
scene.  Oftentimes  the  response  of  an  entire 
audience  is  determined  by  the  action  of  a  single 
person.  The  strong  emotional  functioning  of 
one  individual  often  precipitates  the  latent  sus- 
ceptibility of  the  entire  assembly ;  there  have 
been  numerous  instances  in  which  the  persistent 
applauding  of  one  man  has  induced  an  entire 
audience  into  doing  the  same  thing,  even  though 
at  the  outset  it  was  not  particularly  inclined  to 
do  so.  Almost  anything  that  will  precipitate 
the  easily  susceptible  emotions  of  an  audience 
into  a  more  or  less  definite  channel  will  capture 
the  house  for  the  moment  and  will  often  deter- 


44    Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

mine  the  attitude  of  the  spectators  during  the 
entire  play.  A  good  dramatist  is  keen  to  take 
advantage  of  this  fact.  If  he  can  once  get  the 
proper  response  from  his  pubHc,  by  his  having 
deftly  laid  the  means  in  his  play  whereby  to  do 
so,  he  has  gone  a  long  way  to  win  his  case. 

Characteristics  of  a  Present-day  Theatre 

Audience 

While  any  theatre  audience  has  all  the  char- 
acteristics of  an  assemblage  of  whatever  kind, 
it  has  also  certain  other  elements  that  differen- 
tiate it  from  any  other  assembled  group.  Mem- 
bers of  a  political  convention,  of  a  social  order, 
or  of  a  religious  gathering,  usually  are  unified 
by  a  common  interest,  even  before  the  meeting 
is  convened ;  a  theatre  audience,  however,  is 
quite  heterogeneous.  In  the  former  cases,  gen- 
erally the  individuals  come  from  more  or  less 
well  defined  strata  of  society ;  in  the  case  of  the 
theatre  group,  all  classes  and  conditions  of  peo- 
ple are  represented.  What  would  interest  the 
political,  the  social,  or  the  religious  group,  in 
all  probability,  would  not  interest  the  theatre 
group.  The  theatre  audience  is  more  cosmo- 
politan, more  representative,  more  heteroge- 
neous ;  accordingly,  the  dramatist  must  appeal 
to  the  large  fundamental  human  emotions  rather 
than  to  the  more  specialized  interests   of  the 


The  Dramatist  and  His  Audience    45 

other  type  of  audience.  He  must  write  for  the 
general  group  and  not  for  the  coterie. 

Other  gatherings — religious,  political,  social 
— are  frequently  more  serious  and  sober;  the 
theatre  audience,  however,  is  in  a  receptive  mood 
for  pleasure  and  entertainment.  The  motive  is 
always  recreation;  a  theatre  audience  has  not 
assembled  to  be  edified  or  to  be  educated ;  it 
has  no  particular  desire  to  be  taught.  What 
it  desires — though  it  is  not  always  really  con- 
scious of  it — is  to  have  its  emotions  played 
upon.  It  seeks  amusement  and  entertainment 
in  the  widest  sense  of  the  term — through  laugh- 
ter, tears,  sympathy,  terror,  anger,  jealousy, 
ambition.  On  the  whole  it  is  not  interested  in 
philosophical  theses  or  in  propaganda  of  any 
kind ;  it  does  not  wish  to  be  preached  to — 
individuals  attend  religious  services  for  that 
sort  of  stimulus — and  is  not  inclined  to 
brook  anything  that  does  not  stimulate  it  into 
emotional  functioning  of  one  sort  or  another. 

Another  characteristic  of  a  present-day 
theatre  audience — especially  in  matinees — is  the 
preponderance  ^  of  women  and  children  over 
men.  Victor  Hugo,  a  playwright  who  thor- 
oughly knew  his  audience,  in  his  preface  to 
"Ruy  Bias,"  asserted  that  there  are  three  kinds 
of   playgoers :    thinkers,   who    demand    charac- 

'  A   survey   conducted   by   the   Frohman   ofBce   showed 
this  to  be  seventy  per  cent. 


46    Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

terization ;  women,  who   demand  passion ;   and 
the  mob,  who  demand  action.     That  women  and 
children  are  more  emotional  than  men,  is,  now- 
adays, an  accepted  commonplace  in  psychology. 
Sentiment, — not    necessarily     sentimentality — 
romance,    emotion,    passion,    are    elemental    in 
woman's  nature ;  a  play  of  action  with  deep  pas- 
sion for  the  motive  is  sure  to  hold  her  attention 
and    provoke    her    emotional    response.       The 
social  problem  of  woman,  the  problem  of  the 
eternal  human  triangle,  the  duel  of  sex  and  of 
love,   are  ever  near  to   a  woman's  heart;  and 
it  is  noticeable  that  this  material  is  again  and 
again  the  theme  of  both  three-act  and  One-act 
contemporary   plays.      Probably   no   writer  of 
One-act  plays  has  handled  various   significant 
aspects  of  the  life  of  woman  more  effectively 
than  has   George  Middleton  in   such  plays   as 
"Criminals,"  "Madonna,"  "The  Cheat  of  Pity," 
and  "Mothers."    Moreover,  the  theme  of  "War 
Brides"  by  Marion  Craig  Wentworth,  "Modes- 
ty" by  Paul  Hervieu,  "The  Correct  Thing"  by 
Alfred  Sutro,  "Happiness"  by  J.  Hartley  Man- 
ners, "Countess  JuHe,"  "Facing  Death,"  "The 
Stronger"  by  August  Strindberg,  "Overtones" 
by   Alice    Gerstenberg,    and    "Suppressed    De- 
sires" by  George  Cram  Cook  and  Susan  Glas- 
pell  have  to  do  with  material  largely  of  interest 
to  womankind. 

Just  as  men  are  interested  in  things  of  their 


The  Dramatist  and  His  Audience    47 

own  experience  and  preference,  so  women  are 
attentive  to  those  matters  most  pertinent  to  the 
lives  of  their  sex.  Motherhood,  children,  devo- 
tion to  and  sacrifice  for  the  family,  fidelity  to 
the  marriage  vow,  love,  revenge,  hatred,  jeal- 
ousy, ambition,  are  of  unusual  concern.  She 
has  hopes  for  her  children  when  they  shall  have 
grown  up ;  she  is  solicitous  for  their  immediate 
welfare.  She  has  aspirations  and  dreams  of 
idealized  home  life,  of  wealth,  and  of  social  posi- 
tion. She  is  concerned  about  the  decorum  of 
growing  daughters,  and  about  the  prospects 
of  the  young  son.  She  is  the  private  counsellor 
and  spiritual  advisor  of  every  member  of  the 
household ;  far  more  so  than  the  husband  whose 
interests  are  in  business  and  material  activities 
of  life.  For  herself,  she  is  often  concerned 
about  the  attitude  of  the  husband  toward  her, 
about  his  consideration  and  treatment  of  her. 
She  is  curiously  conscious  of  the  inheritance  of 
the  ages  as  regards  the  position  of  woman  so 
far  as  married  and  social  relations  are  taken 
into  account.  Accordingly,  she  is  spontaneous 
in  her  applause  of  any  sententious  statement  on 
the  stage  as  to  how  woman  should  be  regarded 
and  treated  by  society  in  general  and  by  hus- 
bands in  particular.  She  has  her  own  problems, 
her  own  likes  and  dislikes,  all  of  which  are  her 
inherited  concern.  She  is  ever  between  the 
natural  functionings  of  her  own  passions  and 


48    Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

emotions  and  the  danger  of  heartless  judgment 
and  condemnation  of  modern  social  conventions. 
Any  One-act  play  presenting  woman  in  one  of 
these  themes  will  have  in  it  a  large  element  of 
appeal. 

Psychological  tests  of  considerable  variety, 
covering  a  goodly  period  of  time,  in  University 
laboratories,  have  revealed  the  fact  that  in  any 
given  mental  activity  the  minds  of  women,  dur- 
ing the  first  part  of  some  special  period  of  time, 
are  as  keen  and  dependable  as  those  of  men; 
but  that  after  a  certain  point  the  woman's  mind, 
instead  of  continuing  constant  and  steady  in 
further  activity,  as  does  the  man's,  grows  more 
and  more  inconstant  and  unsteady  until  there 
is  little  certainty  as  to  what  course  it  may  take. 
In  a  word,  after  a  certain  period  of  attention, 
women  become  more  or  less  inattentive.  This  is 
likewise  true  of  the  minds  of  children.  This 
psychological  phenomenon  has  a  very  material 
bearing  on  the  technique  of  the  modern  play. 

Since  women  are  somewhat  inattentive  and 
are  also  somewhat  inclined  to  comment  to  their 
companions  on  aspects  of  the  play  as  it  is  pre- 
sented before  them,  often  they  get  but  little  of 
the  dialogue  which  emphasizes  points  of  prog- 
ress in  the  plot  or  which  presents  significant  ex- 
pository material  of  the  play.  As  a  result,  the 
dramatist  is  obliged  to  reveal  his  story  largely 
by  physical,  objective  action,  by  concrete  pic- 


The  Dramatist  and  His  Audience    49 

tures  that  can  readily  be  seen.  Action  and 
stage-business  are  essential  assets  in  construct- 
ing a  modern  play.  Instead  of  dialogue,  strik- 
ing incidents  and  situations  must  be  resorted  to 
to  tell  the  story  on  the  stage.  Important  facts, 
ideas,  sentiments,  must  be  repeated  again  and 
again  in  order  to  get  them  across  the  foot- 
lights and  to  impress  them  upon  the  minds  of 
the  audience.  Eugene  Scribe  learned  from  very 
practical  experience  that  every  important  mat- 
ter had  to  be  re-stated  at  least  three  times  in 
order  to  make  it  clear  to  the  public.  Brander 
Matthews  reports  that  an  English  stage-man- 
ager, after  years  of  personal  observation,  said 
that  if  you  wish  your  audience  to  get  a  thing, 
you  have  to  tell  them  that  you  are  going  to  do 
it,  and  while  it  is  being  done  you  must  tell  them 
that  you  are  doing  it,  and  after  it  is  done  you 
must  tell  that  it  is  done,  and  then  they  won't 
understand  it.  "Nor  is  this  report  to  be  taken 
lightly :  a  careful  analysis  of  significant  plays 
actually  reveals  that  such  a  technical  method 
has  been  resorted  to  again  and  again.  A  rich 
story  of  life,  with  deep  passion  and  emotion  as 
the  motive,  told  in  objective,  concrete  action 
is  the  type  of  play  that  appeals  to  a  present- 
day  audience ;  and  this  is  an  observation  that 
the  dramatist,  amateur  or  professional,  must 
take  to  heart. 

It  has  been  held  that  in  the  matter  of  the  in- 


50    Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

herited  fondness  of  the  race  for  color,  display, 
and  striking  effects,  the  tendencies  of  women 
are  usually  more  manifest  than  those  of  men. 
Elaborate  and  becoming  gowns  on  the  stage,  the 
effective  coloring  of  scenery,  the  appropriate- 
ness of  color  schemes  and  properties,  and  the 
display  of  lighting,  always  provoke  interest  and 
attention.  Dancing,  parade,  promenade,  and 
delicate  formalities,  woman  observes  with  eager- 
ness. The  dramatist  who  takes  into  account 
these  externals  of  a  play,  will  go  a  long  way  in 
the  direction  of  having  an  added  element  of 
appeal.  Obviously  a  thorough  knowledge  of 
both  fundamentals  and  accidentals  of  human 
life  is  a  necessary  and  valuable  asset  to  the  per- 
son who  hopes  to  become  the  acceptable  play- 
wright of  his  day. 

Chaeacteeistics  of  the  Ameeican  Public 

It  is  an  accepted  precept,  nowadays,  that 
drama  depends  upon  social  support ;  it  is  direct- 
ly related  to  the  communal  aspect  of  life. 
Moreover,  it  has  to  deal  with  life  in  terms  of 
life,  and  it  has  to  appeal  to  life  in  matters  with 
which  life  is  concerned.  "Even  before  nation- 
ality in  drama  added  characteristics  which  dis- 
tinguish the  British  from  the  French  or  Ger- 
man, and  differentiated  the  American  as 
separate,  even  though  a  part  of  the  English, 


I 


The  Dramatist  and  His  Audience    51 

the  drama  echoed  the  fundamental  principles 
of  life,  and  dealt  specifically  with  the  vital 
energy  which  swayed  man's  blood."  "Either  a 
dramatist  has,  or  has  not  written  a  play  with 
some  telling  substance  in  it.  That  is  the  pri- 
mary test  of  the  theatre — the  test  that  knows  no 
nationality."  Yet  there  is  no  dramatist  so  far 
known,  whose  work  is  accessible  for  study  and 
analysis,  who  has  written  wholly  from  the  point 
of  view  of  the  universal ;  his  social  environment 
and  national  characteristics  have  ever  been  at- 
tendant circumstances  to  influence  his  product. 
To  the  dramatist  who  may  write  for  an  Ameri- 
can pubHc  a  note  or  two  of  analysis  and  com- 
ment thereon  will  not  be  amiss. 

Fundamentally  the  American  public  has  the 
common  interests  of  humanity  at  large.  It  is 
richly  human ;  vigorous  and  zealous ;  and  it  feels 
strongly  if  it  feels  at  all.  Its  interests  often 
appear  in  aspects  said  to  be  distinctively  Amer- 
ican in  contrast  to  their  manifestations  in  the 
nations  of  Europe  with  whom  there  is  nearest 
kin.  America  has  the  spirit  of  mature  youth ; 
full  of  vigor  and  ever  in  a  struggle  for  mastery 
of  one  kind  or  another.  An  American  audience, 
with  all  its  virility  and  strength,  likes  a  strug- 
gle above  all  things  else;  psychological  and 
static  drama  is  not  to  its  tastes.  It  is  notice- 
able, however,  that  it  witnesses  a  struggle  with 
a  strong  sense  of  the  "square  deal."     Fairness 


52    Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

in  the  contest,  unbiased  struggle  in  the  game  of 
life,  no  unfair  advantage, — these  are  aspects  of 
its  largeness  of  heart.  An  American  is  eager 
that  his  favored  characters  and  forces  shall 
win  out,  but  he  is  equally  desirous  that  the  vic- 
tory be  won  fairly.  He  is  quick  to  see  an  issue, 
quick  to  take  the  initiative,  quick  to  follow  an 
advantage,  but  seldom,  indeed,  does  he  resort 
to  actual  deceit  and  trickery. 

In  the  next  place,  the  American  public  has 
a  wholesome  sense  of  the  democratic;  it  has  no 
castes,  no  prohibitive  social  distinctions.  The 
average  American  is  generous  in  his  feeling 
that  the  whole  world  is  kin,  and  that  no  man 
is  any  better  than  another  except  in  so  far  as 
he  makes  himself  better.  The  American  has  no 
false  ideas  of  democracy;  he  believes  that  there 
are  some  men  better  and  more  worthy  than 
others.  Democracy  to  him  means  that  every 
human  being  has  it  as  his  inalienable  right  to 
raise  himself  as  far  above  his  environment  as 
lies  within  his  power.  Accordingly,  it  is  ob- 
served that  some  men  have  lifted  themselves 
above  the  common  herd  and  are,  therefore,  more 
desirable  and  more  efficient  members  of  society 
than  their  brothers ;  but  this  superiority  is 
in  no  wise  to  be  attributed  to  birth  or  to  in- 
herited right, — it  is  due  to  the  individual  ini- 
tiative and  worth.  A  play,  then,  that  presents 
a    picture    vf   iMiman    life    under    the    rules    of 


The  Dramatist  and  His  Audience    58 

"democracy"  and  the  "square  deal"  is  pretty 
certain  to  find  a  responsive  chord  in  an  Ameri- 
can audience.  This  is  why  Richard  Harding 
Davis's  "Blackmail,"  in  which  a  blackmailer 
meets  death  at  the  hands  of  a  mining  engineer, 
appeals  quite  as  much  as  does  Marion  Craig 
Wentworth's  "War  Brides,"  whose  theme 
arouses  the  sense  of  morality  and  justice  so 
keenly  alive  in  every  American  heart. 

In  his  demeanor,  the  American  is  direct  and 
clear-cut,  even  to  bluntness.  His  heart  is  large 
rather  than  subtle;  he  is  characterized  by  di- 
rect deed  rather  than  by  evasive  thought.  His 
answer  is  terse  rather  than  veiled  and  uncer- 
tain in  meaning.  On  his  part,  at  least,  there 
must  be  no  misunderstanding.  He  does  not 
choose  to  quibble  over  terms,  he  wishes  to  be 
clearly  understood.  Even  in  his  love  affairs, 
there  is  often  a  directness  and  a  business-hke 
bluntness  that  seems  to  be  far  removed  from  the 
romantic.  Says  Curtis  Jadwin  in  Channing 
Pollock's  dramatization  of  Frank  Norris's  vivid 
novel,  "The  Pit,"  when  he  proposes  to  the 
charming  Miss  Dearborn,  "I'm  a  business  man, 
Miss  Dearborn.  It  doesn't  take  me  long  to  dis- 
cover what  I  want,  and,  when  I  find  that  thing, 
I  generally  get  it.  I  want  you  to  marry  me." 
However  unconventional  and  unromantic  this 
may  seem  to  be,  it  is  thoroughly  honest, — and 
ii  rings  truf  ! 


54    Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

There  is  no  note  of  despair  or  of  gloom  in 
American  life ;  the  American  is  optimistic  to 
a  fault.  His  is  a  life  of  hope,  of  ambition,  of 
exaltation.  In  failure  or  defeat  he  does  not 
hold  fate  or  providence  responsible,  but  in  the 
very  moment  of  defeat  he  has  already  resolved 
to  try  again.  He  is  boyishly  heroic  even  to 
recklessness.  There  is  no  task  too  large,  no  un- 
dertaking too  offset  with  obstacles ;  he  has 
large  faith  in  his  powers  and  is  confident  of 
success.  His  buoyant  sense  of  power  and  of 
confidence  are  his  greatest  of  heritages,  and  an 
American  public  applauds  it  whether  it  appears 
in  the  struggle  for  the  hand  of  an  American 
girl  or  in  a  business  undertaking  involving  the 
risk  of  millions  of  capital. 

Again,  the  American  is  genuinely  whole- 
some and  sympathetic.  To  him  home  and  loved 
ones  mean  a  great  deal;  he  is  generous  to  the 
last  farthing.  Social  institutions  receive  his 
contributions,  and  no  one,  however  humble  in 
life,  shall  go  hungry  or  unclothed.  He  has  a 
high  sense  of  conduct,  though  he  is  seldom  con- 
ventional. It  is  for  this  reason  that  in  Alfred 
Sutro's  "The  Correct  Thing"  the  sympathy  of 
the  American  is  wholly  with  Kitty  Bellamy,  who 
in  her  whole-hearted  love  was  guilty  of  indis- 
cretion, rather  than  with  D'Arcy  Galbraith, 
who  was  quite  willing  to  provide  her  with  a  com- 
fortable maintenance,  but  who,  because  it  would 


The  Dramatist  and  His  Audience    55 

jeopardize  his  political  ambitions,  was  unwill- 
ing to  marry  the  very  woman  who  had  been  his 
wife  in  every  way  but  that  of  legality.  Because 
he  is  wholesome  and  sympathetic,  he  is  usually 
companionable  and  has  a  faculty  for  adapta- 
bility. He  makes  the  most  of  a  situation  be- 
cause he  can  see  a  point  of  view  other  than  his 
own.  His  sympathies  are  real ;  he  therefore  feels 
keenly  about  those  things  which  are  vital  in  his 
life. 

Because  the  American  is  optimistic,  whole- 
some, and  sympathetic,  he  has  a  good  fund  of 
humor,  a  few  opinions  to  the  contrary  notwith- 
standing. He  laughs  heartily,  and  he  plays  as 
hard  as  he  works.  He  is  ever  ready  for  fun  and 
amusement,  and  is  the  greatest  theatre-goer  in 
the  world.  Moreover  his  humor  is  not  forced, 
but  spontaneous  and  genuine,  sometimes  even 
to  rustic  hilarity.  Paul  Armstrong's  "Woman 
Proposes,"  a  vaudeville  playlet  of  considerable 
merit,  is  as  laughable  to  him  as  TchekofF's  "A 
Marriage  Proposal"  and  "The  Boor,"  or  Alice 
Gerstenberg's  "Overtones"  and  George  Cram 
Cook  and  Susan  Glaspell's  "Suppressed  De- 
sires." In  his  laughter,  as  in  all  things  else  in 
which  he  engages,  he  gives  himself  up  wholly  to 
the  matter  in  hand.  The  American  dramatist 
has  the  rarest  opportunity,  so  far  as  a  humor- 
ous public  is  concerned,  to  write  the  greatest  of 
liiodern  comedies. 


56    Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

Probably  the  most  noticeable  and  most  com- 
mendable characteristic  of  the  American  is  his 
capacity  for  action.  He  is  a  tireless  worker, 
and  has  scarcely  finished  one  task  before  he 
takes  up  the  next.  He  has  foresight  and  con- 
structive ability ;  this  is  manifested  again  and 
again  in  his  material  developments  and  inven- 
tions. The  material  resources  of  the  land, 
though  there  is  accompanying  waste,  have  been 
developed  effectively  and  on  a  largeness  of  scale 
never  before  dreamed  of.  He  is  ever  seeking 
new  and  larger  opportunity.  He  is  aggressive 
and  competent ;  he  is  persevering,  and  intelli- 
gent ;  and  he  is  destined  to  become  one  of  the 
greatest  forces  in  the  development  of  a  greater 
and  more  stable  world  democracy.  His  ac- 
tivities often  savor  a  bit  of  the  spectacular  and 
the  melodramatic,  but  his  purpose  rings  true 
and  his  heart  is  in  his  work  because  he  feels  the 
impelling  force  of  his  own  native  possibilities. 

Large  opportunity  is  open  to  the  playwright 
who  writes  for  the  American  public !  A  public 
richly  human  in  all  its  phases !  With  a  sense  of 
democracy  that  makes  the  whole  world  kin, 
with  a  highly  developed  sense  of  fair  play  in 
the  game  of  life,  and  with  a  directness  that  is 
unmistakably  clear  and  effective,  the  American 
audience  is  fine  material  for  the  dramatist  who 
can  strike  aright  the  responsive  chords.  The 
wholesome   sympathy   and  whole-hearted   opti- 


The  Dramatist  and  His  Audience    57 

mism  of  the  American  people  furnish  the  spon- 
taneity so  essential  to  dramatic  achievement; 
their  will  to  achieve  and  their  unlimited  capacity 
for  action  furnish  the  motive  forces  for  the 
greatest  drama  of  modern  times.  And  their 
generous  sense  of  humor  will  prevent  the  de- 
velopment of  the  drama  into  anything  other 
than  that  which  is  ennobling  and  exalting. 
Latent  in  American  life  are  all  the  larger  ele- 
ments of  significant  dramatic  products.  To 
the  dramatist  who  thoroughly  knows  that  life 
— and  to  him  only — is  any  large  measure  of  suc- 
cess possible. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE    DRAMATIST   AND    HIS    TECHNIQUE 

The  Qualities  of  the  Dramatist 

One  is  not  going  very  far  astray  if  one  as- 
sert that  the  first  essential  quality  of  a  good 
playwright  is  honesty  and  sincerity.  He  is 
thoroughly  honest  both  with  himself  and  with 
his  art,  and  is  openly  frank  in  dealing  with 
the  public  for  whose  entertainment  and  uplift 
he  writes.  He  is  not  a  trickster,  nor  a  jealous 
charlatan.  His  chief  concern  is  not  that  he 
shall  surpass  some  rival  dramatist,  but  that  he 
shall  develop  what  is  latent  within  him  and  leave 
the  matter  of  superiority  take  care  of  itself. 
His  prime  intent  is  that,  out  of  his  richness  of 
experience  and  of  insight,  he  shall  so  construct 
his  play  that  the  essential  values  may  be  got  to 
the  audience  in  an  effective  and  moving  way. 
He  is  eager  to  interest  others  because  he  him- 
self is  interested ;  he  wishes  others  to  respond 
emotionally  because  he  himself  feels  deeply 
about  vital  things.  Never  does  he  write  just 
because  he  is  dissatisfied  with  life.  He  knows 
full  well  that  the  fault  may  lie  largely  with 

58 


Dramatist  and  His  Technique      59 

himself.  He  knows  that  his  dis-ease,  ferment, 
turbulence,  dislike,  and  ill-nature,  are  not  the 
stuff  out  of  which  an  art  product  is  usually 
made.  He  knows  that  anything  so  abnormal 
is  always  overcolored  to  the  degree  of  the  ultra- 
theatrical.  Never  does  he  make  the  mistake  of 
thinking  that  just  because  there  is  an  irritating 
pebble  in  his  shoe,  he  is,  therefore,  qualified 
to  write  a  play  dealing  with  certain  fundamen- 
tals of  life. 

Because  he  is  honest  and  sincere  with  himself 
and  with  his  work,  he  is  keenly  alert  and  pro- 
gressive. He  knows  that  he  must  not  treat  his 
art  lightly,  nor  trust  it  to  the  uncertainty  of 
chance.  Like  a  really  intelligent  person,  he  al- 
ways profits  by  experience :  a  mistake  once  made 
and  recognized,  he  never  repeats  it;  and  a 
dramatic  eifect  once  secured,  he  immediately 
sets  himself  to  the  task  of  improving  and  per- 
fecting the  method  by  which  the  effect  is  ob- 
tained. He  detects  unerringly  how  others  get 
results,  and  immediately  profits  by  his  obser- 
vation. He  soon  learns  whether  his  own  forte 
is  in  plotting,  in  characterization,  in  dialogue, 
or  in  securing  strong  emotional  effects ;  and  he 
is  equally  quick  to  detect  by  what  methods  he 
can  work  to  best  advantage.  Now  and  then 
he  may  grow  fantastic  and  get  his  head  into 
the  clouds,  but,  if  he  does,  he  is  fully  aware  of 
it    and    always    keeps    his    feet    firm    on   solid 


60    Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

ground.  He  has  a  keen  and  observing  eye,  an 
open  mind,  and  a  generously  responsive  heart. 
Nothing  escapes  him.  He  is  ever  growing  in 
depth  of  insight  and  in  wisdom,  for  it  is  out  of 
his  knowledge  of  life  that  the  dramatic  values 
of  his  plays  must  come. 

A  second  characteristic  of  a  good  playwright 
is  that  he  has  a  keen  dramatic  sense.  Every- 
thing that  he  sees,  everything  that  he  experi- 
ences, has  value  and  significance  to  him.  Life 
in  all  its  aspects  is  interesting,  and  he  sees 
manifestations  of  it  always  in  terms  of  charac- 
ter and  of  vital  human  forces.  Whether  the 
centre  of  attention  be  incident  or  be  character, 
he  is  sympathetic  with  all  human  activities.  He 
feels  deeply  the  vital  forces  operative  in  both 
men  and  the  events  of  life ;  he  detects  unerringly 
the  significance  of  dramatic  personalities  and 
of  dramatic  situation.  He  responds  to  the  im- 
pelling force  of  motive.  He  is  moved  to  action 
and  expression  because  he  feels  keenly  and 
deeply. 

Because  he  has  so  deep  a  sense  of  values  in 
human  character  and  is  inherently  sympathetic 
with  its  various  manifestations  he  has  the  power 
of  projecting  himself,  to  an  unusual  degree, 
into  the  personalities  of  the  characters  of  his 
play.  He  has  the  faculty  of  putting  himself 
into  another  person's  place.  He  detects  and 
feels  the  impelling  force  of  human  motive  and 


Dramatist  and  His  Technique      61 

can  have  his  characters  act  accordingly ;  he 
feels  the  response  to  varying  stimuli  with  which 
his  characters  may  come  into  contact  and  is 
able,  thei-efore,  to  have  them  demean  them- 
selves along  lines  of  vital  conduct.  Being  as 
generously  sympathetic  with  life  as  he  is,  the 
playwright  lives  in  the  very  emotions  and  per- 
sonalities of  his  characters.  He  can  feel,  to  a 
large  degree,  the  torture  of  fear,  the  pangs  of 
remorse,  the  rancor  of  jealousy,  the  fervor  of 
love  and  affection,  the  zeal  of  enthusiasm,  the 
bitterness  of  sorrow.  He  can  be  as  vain  as  the 
egotist,  as  pompous  as  the  shallow-minded,  as 
demure  and  modest  as  the  shy  maiden,  as  quar- 
relsome as  a  selfish  youngster  who  insists  upon 
playing  the  game  of  life  unfairly.  As  a  sound 
genetic  psychologist,  he  understands  human 
motives  and  can  make  his  characters  act  in 
semblance  of  genuinely  human  beings. 

Furthermore,  being  keen  to  detect  and  ap- 
preciate underlying  motive  forces  which,  in  the 
natural  course  of  events,  give  rise  to  dramatic 
movement,  the  playwright  has  a  nice  sense  of 
situation  and  crisis.  He  is  a  born  plot-maker. 
Character  and  incident  are  to  him  dramatic 
motive  factors.  He  has  the  ability  to  recognize 
the  possible  outcome  of  latent  elements  and  cir- 
cumstantial incident.  He  sees  clearly  that  if 
certain  characters  of  given  personalities  are 
brought  together  under  certain  definite  condi- 


62     Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

tions  there  will  result  inter-action  of  forces 
which  will  give  rise  to  plot-development.  Once 
the  dramatic  movement  is  started,  he  sees  there 
must  be  a  final  outcome.  He  is  a  logical  thinker, 
and  he  has  the  power  of  creative  imagination. 
Plot,  to  him,  is  but  a  natural  and  logical 
sequence  of  situations  and  crises  leading  to  a 
crucial  moment.  He  sees  nothing,  he  hears 
nothing,  that  does  not  immediately  take  on,  for 
him,  dramatic  and  structural  aspect.  He  has 
the  constructive  power  of  telling  a  moving  story 
directly  to  a  given  end. 

The  real  dramatist  has  a  keen  eye  for  dramat- 
ic effect.  He  never  loses  sight  of  his  audience 
while  he  is  building  and  writing  his  play.  His 
chief  interest  and  his  prime  intent  are  to  pro- 
voke the  assembled  group  to  emotional  function- 
ing of  one  kind  or  another.  The  born  playwright 
is  not  satisfied  until  he  has  seen  his  work  on 
the  stage  before  an  audience,  where  his  charac- 
ters are  made  flesh  and  blood  before  his  own 
eyes,  and  where  he  himself  can  feel  the  thrill 
of  the  assembled  group  as  they  respond  to  the 
stimuli  he  has  placed  before  them.  The  prac- 
tical dramatist  is  obliged  so  to  appeal  to  his 
spectators  that  they  will,  in  large  measui'e,  lose 
their  consciousness  of  self  in  the  consciousness 
of  the  emotional  values  of  the  play.  His  great 
task  is  to  sway  the  hearts  of  the  assembled 
group,  to  make  them  think  and  feel  as  he  would 


Dramatist  and  His  Technique      63 

have  them.  The  dramatist  who  is  sincere,  whose 
heart  is  in  his  work,  always  aims  to  appeal  to 
his  audience.  Whatever  else  he  may  do,  he 
never  forgets  the  spectator. 

The  Equipment  of  the  Dramatist 

Any  author  who  hopes  to  be  successful  in 
the  practical  aspect  of  playwriting  should  be 
thoroughly  equipped  for  his  work.  It  must  not 
be  denied  that  genius  and  talent  for  dramatic 
writing  go  a  long  way ;  but  sincerity  and  willing- 
ness to  work  are  almost  as  valuable  assets.  The 
practice  of  dramaturgy  is  not  a  thing  to  be 
undertaken  by  the  one  inclined  to  laziness.  Lim- 
itation of  natural  endowment  is  sometimes  no 
greater  handicap  to  successful  work  than  a 
wealth  of  power.  As  a  matter  of  course,  more 
effort  will  have  to  be  made  in  the  former  case, 
but  there  often  results  more  skill  and  sureness ; 
in  the  latter  case,  mere  wealth  of  powers,  espe- 
cially when  not  under  definite  control  because 
of  lack  of  training,  may  fail  ignobly  to  meet  the 
issue  when  the  real  test  comes.  No  ambitious 
dramatist  can  be  content  with  mediocre  and 
half-hearted  effort ;  it  is  the  specific  and  tlic 
intensive  work  that  counts.  No  author  is 
equipped  with  the  right  motive  for  dramatic 
activity,  unless  he  is  sincerely  eager  to  set  him- 
self to  the  task  of  laboring  long  and  arduously. 


64     Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

In  the  second  place,  the  ambitious  playwright 
is  eagerly  desirous  of  learning  the  precepts  and 
the  motive  forces  of  human  nature,  which  active 
life  alone  can  teach  him.  He  cultivates  the  joy 
of  living,  the  optimism  of  hard  endeavor.  He  is 
not  a  cynic.  The  sincere  dramatist  is  content 
to  find  out  what  life  has  to  teach  him  and  what 
it  has  to  offer  him  as  his  lot.  He  does  not  insist 
that  life  shall  give  him  what  he  thinks  is  his 
due ;  nor  is  he  peevish  and  caustic  if  things  are 
not  altogether  to  his  liking.  His  mind  and 
heart  are  ever  open  and  receptive ;  only  by  a 
willingness  to  accept  gladly  what  life  has  to 
give  him  can  he  hope  to  receive  any  aid  from 
his  observation  of  life  round  about  him.  Life 
he  must  know  intimately  and  sympathetically, 
else  he  cannot  reveal  it  to  the  public  for  which 
he  writes.  If  he  is  never  carried  away  by  his 
own  emotions  of  either  laughter  or  tears,  he 
cannot  hope  to  be  very  successful  in  swaying 
his  audience.  He  must  study,  he  must  observe, 
he  must  learn,  and  he  must  really  live,  if  he 
would  equip  himself  adequately  for  the  high 
calling  of  the  dramatist. 

In  the  third  place,  the  serious  playwright 
acquaints  himself  with  the  best  that  has  been 
thought,  said,  and  done  in  the  field  of  dramatic 
activity.  He  reads  and  studies  drama  widely 
in  order  to  find  out  the  varying  conditions  under 
which  plays  have  been  written,  to  learn  what 


Dramatist  and  His  Technique      65 

technical  methods  have  been  employed  in  each 
case,  and  to  discover  why  some  plays  have  suc- 
ceeded and  wh^'  others  have  failed.  He  seeks 
to  profit  by  the  successful  experiences  of  others ; 
he  purposes  to  avoid  their  mistakes.  He  stud- 
ies and  observes  how  emotional  response  is  most 
effectively  and  most  economically  secured.  He 
sets  himself  to  the  task  of  learning  the  various 
methods  of  workmanship,  he  acquaints  liimself 
with  the  details  of  dramatic  technique.  More- 
over, he  does  not  limit  his  study  to  the  plays  of 
his  own  country  and  of  his  own  day ;  plays  of  all 
nations  and  of  all  times  are  his  companions. 
He  knows  ancient  classical  drama  as  well  as 
modern  and  contemporary ;  he  knows  Moliere 
and  Hervieu,  Seneca  and  D'Annunzio,  Goethe 
and  Sudennann,  Shakespeare  and  G.  Bernard 
Shaw,  Ibsen  and  August  Strindberg.  Above 
all,  as  a  writer  of  One-act  plays,  he  is  thor- 
oughly acquainted  with  the  several  hundred  of 
the  shorter  dramatic  forms  that  have  appeared 
during  the  last  few  years.  He  knows  drama 
first,  last,  and  always,  because  it  is  the  art 
product  which  he  himself  purposes  to  bring 
forth. 

Again  the  enthusiastic  dramatist  familiarizes 
himself  with  dramatic  theory  and  dramatic  crit- 
icism from  Aristotle  to  Clayton  Hamilton. 
"The  drama,  like  all  other  arts  or  crafts," 
says  Charlton  Andrews,  "has  its  body  of  doc- 


66     Technique  or  the  One- Act  Play 

trine  gained  from  experimentation.  One  must 
know  as  many  facts  about  ways  and  means  be- 
fore broaching  the  construction  of  a  play,  at 
least  as  one  must  know,  for  instance,  before 
beginning  to  build  a  house."  To  know  the  best 
that  has  been  thought  and  said  on  these  matters 
is  a  valuable  asset  to  any  playwright.  To  that 
end  he  spends  many  hours  poring  over  Aris- 
totle, Hegel,  Brunetiere,  Sarcey,  Lessing,  Du- 
mas fls,  Victor  Hugo,  William  Archer,  Clayton 
Hamilton,  and  a  score  of  other  critical  writers 
on  the  drama.  Unless  he  is  an  author  whose 
chief  pleasure  is  derived  from  stout  denial  of 
all  established  principles  of  art,  he  will  have 
frequent  need  to  profit  by  the  observations  of 
the  world's  greatest  dramatic  critics  and  dra- 
matic theorists  who  have  more  than  once  caught 
sight  of  and  laid  down  some  of  the  fundamentals 
of  dramaturgy.  Moreover,  the  only  way  by 
which  he  may  hope  not  to  copy  anybody,  if  he 
is  bent  on  originality,  is  to  study  and  to  know 
everybody. 

Furthermore,  the  serious  playwright  profits 
by  his  every  attendance  at  a  play  because  he 
has  the  right  attitude  toward  the  art  of  the 
theatre.  He  does  not  cavil,  as  does  the  hyper- 
critical egotist,  at  a  play,  whether  amateur  or 
professional,  because  it  has  defects  in  it.  He 
has  too  much  knowledge  of  dramatic  art  to 
demand  perfection ;  nor  does  he  insist  that  a 


Dramatist  and  His  Technique      67 

play  shall  be  written  absolutely  in  accordance 
vriih  his  preconceived  ideas  of  what  a  play  must 
be.  He  knows  that  there  are  many  ways  of 
writing  a  drama,  and  that  almost  any  way  is  a 
good  one  that  succeeds  in  carrying  emotional 
values  to  the  minds  and  hearts  of  the  assembled 
group.  Moreover,  he  does  not  judge  any  play 
until  all  the  evidence  is  in,  until  he  has  thorough- 
ly mastered  its  every  detail  and  has  fully  con- 
ceived the  author's  idea  and  purpose.  To  him, 
it  is  not  a  question  whether  he,  himself,  would 
have  handled  the  thesis  in  the  same  way  in  which 
the  author  did,  but  he  detects  whether  the 
author  in  his  own  way  made  clear  just  what 
was  intended  by  waj^  of  dramatic  effect.  He 
realizes  that  the  author  has  conceived  a  dra- 
matic problem  in  his  own  mind  and  has  set  it 
forth  in  his  own  way.  The  question  is  does 
the  author  make  his  problem  and  his  method 
clear  and  effective.  This  is  the  test  that  the 
real  playwright  applies.  He  does  not  insist 
that  every  play  shall  be  written  according  to 
the  canons  of  his  own  making. 

And  lastly,  the  serious  playwright  is  solici- 
tous of  worth-while  criticism.  He  is  not  afraid 
of  the  competent  critic,  and  is  an  adept  in  de- 
tecting the  shallow  one.  A  sincere  dramatist 
has  no  false  notions  concerning  his  powers ;  he 
lays  aside  his  vanity  and  welcomes  true  coun- 
sel.    He  is  suspicious  of  false  praise  and  subtle 


68     Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

flattery ;  he  knows  too  well  that  the  sycopha^it 
admires  everything  and  has  no  sense  of  relative 
values.  He  seeks  the  opinion  of  a  severe  but 
competent  critic  primarily  to  determine  wheth- 
er he  has  succeeded  in  making  himself  clear  and 
effective.  Moreover,  he  knows  that  often  a 
really  good  thing  in  a  play  is  severely  con- 
demned, and  that  frequently,  also,  a  bad  thing  is 
given  high  praise.  In  the  last  analysis,  he  him- 
self is  so  familiar  with  the  plays  of  the  masters, 
so  aware  of  the  precepts  of  worthy  observers, 
and  so  cognizant  of  the  nature  of  his  own 
powers,  that  he  is  his  own  best  critic. 

The  Nature  and  Value  of  Technique 

The  One-act  play  is  a  type  of  prose  fiction; 
that  is,  it  is  a  form  of  story-telling.  To  tell 
a  dramatic  story  through  the  medium  of  the 
three  hundred  printed  pages  of  a  book  which  is 
to  be  read,  and  to  present  a  dramatic  story 
through  the  medium  of  characters,  dialogue  and 
stage  business,  on  a  stage  before  an  audience, 
are  two  fundamentally  different  processes.  The 
materials  and  methods  used  in  the  one  case  are 
in  little  wise  similar  to  those  used  in  the  other. 
It  is  the  technical  processes  that  very  largely 
differentiate  the  arts.  Although  the  One-act 
play  is  a  type  of  prose  fiction,  it,  nevertheless, 


Dramatist  and  His  Technique      69 

has  a  method  and  a  technique  distinctively  its 
own. 

The  basis  of  good  workmanship  in  any  art  is 
a  thorough  understanding  of  its  principles.  An 
inefficient  workman  neither  understands  these 
principles  nor  does  he  know  how  to  use  his 
tools.  Genuine  craftsmanship  means  mastery 
of  both  tools  and  method  of  technique.  It  is  a 
poor  musician  who  would  have  to  admit  that  he 
does  not  know  intimately  the  technique  of  his 
subject.  In  the  practice  of  dramaturgy,  even 
decided  originality  must  be  supplanted  by 
technique.  "Craftsmanship  can,  within  limits, 
be  acquired,"  says  William  Archer,  "genius  can- 
not; and  it  is  craftsmanship  that  pilots  us 
through  the  perils  of  the  first  performance,  gen- 
ius that  carries  us  on  to  the  apotheosis  of  the 
thousandth."  The  skilled  dramatist  not  only 
knows  just  what  effect  he  wishes  to  get  but  also 
knows  just  by  what  means  he  is  to  secure  it. 
Whatever  else  the  playwright  may  be,  he  must 
never  be  ignorant  of  the  very  thing  that  he 
aims  to  put  to  practical  use.  The  ambitious 
playwright,  in  these  days,  must  be  nothing  short 
of  a  past  master  in  dramatic  method. 

To  the  beginner,  in  particular,  a  knowledge 
of  some  sort  of  dramatic  method  is  not  only  an 
element  of  efficiency  but  also  an  element  of 
economy.  It  is  not  to  be  denied  that  experience 
and  practice  are  the  best  teachers ;  but  while 


70    Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

the  playwright  is  serving  his  apprenticeship, 
it  is  well  to  have  something  of  a  definite  method 
to  adhere  to,  even  though  it  be  a  dogmatic  one. 
A  knowledge  of  dramatic  theory  and  precept  is 
a  good  guide  to  prevent  the  student  from  be- 
coming confused  and  muddled  with  alternatives 
before  he  has  fully  grasped  any  one  precept. 
The  playwright  will  progress  much  more  rapid- 
ly if  he  has  in  mind  one  good  method,  even 
though  he  makes  some  mistakes,  rather  than 
flounder  about  because  of  uncertainty  of  what 
way  to  proceed.  If  he  thoroughly  understands 
some  definite  method,  he  is  very  sure  to  avoid 
inexcusable  blunders  and  he  is  not  likely  to 
meander  or  to  go  astray.  Dramatic  precept, 
even  though  a  bit  dogmatic,  is  a  good  guide  for 
the  one  who,  for  the  first  time,  essays  writing 
a  play. 

On  the  other  hand,  dramatic  rules  and  laws, 
in  the  proper  acceptation  of  the  terms,  are  not 
dogmatic  theories  of  pedants  and  of  scholiasts, 
but  are  the  precepts  deduced  from  practical  ex- 
perience and  from  sympathetic  study  of  the 
world's  dramatic  masterpieces.  They  have 
come  to  be  by  inductive  processes ;  they  are 
empirical  in  their  origin.  In  any  case,  they  are 
intended  to  be  guides  rather  than  hard  and 
fast  regulations.  ".  .  .  grasp  clearly,"  says 
Brunetiere,  "the  difference  between  the  idea  of 
Law  and  of  Rule ;  the  Rule  being  always  limited 


Dramatist  and  His  Technique      71 

by  its  very  expression,  incapable  of  exceeding 
it  without  destroying  itself,  always  narrow,  con- 
sequently unbending,  rigid,  or  so  to  speak, 
tyrannical;  and  the  Law,  on  the  contrary,  in- 
evitable by  definition  and  so  fundamentally  im- 
mutable, but  broad,  supple,  flexible  in  its  ap- 
plication, very  simple  and  very  general  at  the 
same  time,  very  rich  in  its  application,  and, 
without  ceasing  to  be  Law,  always  ready  to  be 
enriched  by  whatever  reflection,  experience,  or 
history  contribute  in  confirmations  to  explain 
it,  or  in  contradictions  to  absorb  it." 

It  goes  without  saying  that  no  playwright 
will  acliieve  a  good  play  by  merely  adhering  to 
precepts.  On  the  other  hand,  it  must  be  recog- 
nized that  they  are  valuable  aids.  Moreover, 
no  sincere  dramatist  treats  fundamental  pre- 
cepts lightly.  "Submit  yourself,"  says  Bron- 
son  Howard,  "to  the  laws  of  dramatic  truth, 
so  far  as  you  can  conceive  them  by  honest  men- 
tal exertion  and  observation.  Do  not  mistake 
any  mere  defiance  of  these  laws  for  originality. 
You  might  as  well  show  your  originality  by 
defying  the  laws  of  gravitation."  The  greater 
dramatists  have  seldom  been  inventors ;  most 
frequently  they  are  but  perfectors  of  methods 
long  since  in  vogue.  It  is  the  lesser  men  who 
invent  new  tricks  and  who  startle  with  innova- 
tions. Beginners,  in  particular,  should  aim  at 
technical  perfection ;  and,  to  attain  this  end. 


72    Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

they  must  give  heed  to  precept.  Masters  may 
take  liberties  with  law ;  beginners  should  be 
slaves  to  it.  Even  a  master  is  not  a  paragon  of 
all  things ;  usually  he  is  able  to  do  but  a  few 
things  well.  Any  playwright  should  try  to  rid 
himself  of  the  arbitrary  restriction  of  rule  and 
precept,  but  not  before  he  knows  by  practical 
applications  of  them  what  the  rules  are.  Lope 
de  Vega  had  thoroughly  mastered  his  craft  when 
he  wrote,  "I  banish  Terence  and  Plautus  from 
my  study  that  they  may  not  cry  out  against 
me,"  and  "But  what  can  I  do  if  I  have  written 
four  hundred  and  eighty-three  comedies,  along 
with  the  one  which  I  have  finished  this  week.-^ 
For  all  of  these,  except  six,  gravely  sin  against 
art."  Only  after  the  artist  has  thoroughly 
mastered  the  technique  of  his  craft,  should  he 
seek  to  vary  and  to  adjust  his  method. 

Although  it  is  the  better  part  of  wisdom  that 
a  beginner  in  playwriting  master  some  one 
method,  it  must  not  be  forgotten  that  no  one 
method  is  the  best,  and  that  any  method  is  a 
good  one  which  holds  and  moves  an  audience. 
The  really  fundamental  precepts  of  dramaturgy 
merely  insist  that  one  must  early  gain  the  emo- 
tional interest  of  the  audience,  hold  it  and 
heighten  it  till  the  close,  and  then  dismiss  it 
satisfied.  One  thing  should  be  kept  in  mind  in 
dramatic  art  as  well  as  in  other  human  affairs ; 
namely,  that  perfection,  if  not  unallowable,  is 


Dramatist  and  His  Technique      73 

exceedingly  rare.  Indeed,  it  is  no  disparage- 
ment to  the  great  dramatists  to  admit  of  them 
that  they  frequently  show  rather  what  to  avoid 
than  what  to  do.  It  should  be  recognized  that 
any  technical  method  has  its  defects  and  that  no 
scheme  of  dramaturgy  can  possibly  fit  all  cases. 
Each  play  is  a  separate  dramatic  problem  re- 
quiring individual  treatment.  It  is  only  after 
the  playwright  has  become  proficient  in  some 
one  method  that  he  can  venture,  with  any  de- 
gree of  security,  into  new  technical  practices. 

Moreover,  in  mastering  dramatic  structure, 
as  in  mastering  anything  worth  while,  no  substi- 
tute has  yet  been  found  for  patience  and  hard 
work.  Distinction  in  any  art  is  not  acquired 
over  night.  The  athlete  who  displays  enviable 
"form"  in  running  the  hundred-yard  dash,  who 
runs  so  gracefully  that  it  is  a  delight  to  watch 
him,  has  acquired  this  "form"  by  long  and 
patient  practice  under  a  strict  and  exacting 
coach.  The  playwright  must  not  fail  to  put 
forth  every  effort  to  learn  his  craft;  and  he 
must  not  expect  to  mature  during  the  time  of 
writing  but  one  lone  play.  The  writing  of  a 
One-act  play  is  a  serious  matter;  it  must  not  be 
approached  in  the  spirit  of  mere  boyish  glee. 
Play-making  is  not  child's  play.  The  ambi- 
tious dramatist  will  do  well  to  do  apprentice 
work  for  three  or  four  years, — in  any  case  he 
should  not  expect  to  write  marketable  drama  be- 


74    Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

fore  he  has  thoroughly  matured  in  both  his  men- 
tal powers  and  in  his  technical  method.  Very 
few  writers  become  expert  before  the  age  of 
thirty  or  thirty-five.  The  playwright  who  is 
serious  in  his  work  builds  his  plays  intellectually 
in  cold  blood;  and  then  he  writes  them  emo- 
tionally and  esthetically. 

And  when  the  first  complete  draft  of  the 
One-act  play  is  done,  then  begins  the  real  labor 
of  authorship.  Close  study  and  examination 
of  it  will  reveal  that  there  are  crudities  of 
structure,  awkwardness  and  prolixity  of  dia- 
logue, lack  of  adequate  treatment  here  and  bad 
emphasis  there,  and  a  dozen  and  one  other 
things,  all  of  which  must  be  remedied  before 
the  play  can  be  said  to  be  finished.  Boileau  in 
his  "Art  of  Poetry"  wrote, — 

"A  hundred  times  consider  what  you've  said; 
Polish,  repolish,  every  color  lay; 
And  sometimes  add,  but  oftener  take  away." 

The  author  should  be  in  no  hurry  to  finish  his 
product.  He  should  take  time  to  think  and 
ponder.  Now  is  the  time  when  he  must  not 
work  in  haste ;  he  must  not  value  himself  for 
writing  fast,  for  things  done  in  a  hurry  usually 
lack  judgment  and  polish.  Correction,  revision, 
and  polish  must,  of  course,  have  their  limit  even 
though  the  play  is  not  perfection.   On  the  other 


Dramatist  and  His  Technique      75 

hand,  no  playwright,  who  takes  his  art  at  all 
seriously,  will  ever  think  of  putting  his  play  by 
as  being  finished,  until  he  has  given  his  very 
utmost  to  the  perfecting  of  every  detail. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE    THEME    OF    THE    ONE-ACT    PLAY 

The  Dramatic  Value  of  a  Theme 

To  reveal  human  life  and  to  present  it  in 
such  way  that  it  will  provoke  attention  and  emo- 
tional response  from  the  observer  or  reader  is 
the  chief  purpose  of  any  art  form, — and  par- 
ticularly is  this  true  of  the  drama  which  is  writ- 
ten to  be  presented  on  a  stage  before  an  as- 
sembled group.  Not  to  champion  or  to  defend 
aspects  of  life,  nor  to  attack  or  condemn  them 
is  its  function ;  art  has  for  its  aim  the  bodying 
forth,  in  concrete  terms  which  can  readily  be 
appreciated  by  the  senses,  life  itself  without 
comment  pro  or  con  other  than  that  revealed 
by  the  personality  and  outlook  on  life  of  the 
author.  Moreover,  unless  the  art  form  appeal 
to  the  observer  or  reader  in  some  more  or  less 
definite  way,  it  will  have  failed  of  its  purpose. 
Drama  especially  must  arouse  the  powers  of 
attention  and  provoke  mental  and  emotional 
response  in  the  minds  and  hearts  of  the  audi- 
ence. The  playwright  who  would  lead  his  pub- 
lic to  think,  to  feel,  and  to  want  to  do  or  to  be, 
must,  at  the  outset,  have  definitely  in  mind  just 

76 


The  Theme  of  the  One- Act  Play    77 

what  he  wants  his  audience  to  feel;  just  what, 
in  his  play,  he  desires  them  to  respond  to. 

The  drama,  largely  emotional  in  its  values 
and  effects,  must  as  an  art  product,  aim  at 
something  of  a  singleness  of  impression  or  unity 
of  effect ;  the  assembled  group  must  be  made  to 
feel  that  they  have  observed  and  experienced 
something  more  or  less  definite  of  the  moving 
forces  of  life.  This  effect  is  what  will  remain 
fixed  as  a  leavening  influence  in  the  mind  long 
after  the  essentials  of  plot,  situation,  and  char- 
acter, whereby  the  theme  of  the  play  has  been 
made  clear,  have  faded  from  the  memory.  What 
the  play  was  about  is  often  held  in  mind  long 
after  all  else  is  forgotten.  Not  infrequently,  at 
the  close  of  a  play,  one  is  able  easily  to  formu- 
late the  impression  of  what  the  play  dealt  with ; 
more  often,  however,  unless  one  deliberately 
analyze  it,  the  impression  remains  unnamed  but 
none  the  less  powerful  and  moving.  These  im- 
pressions are  usually  either  strong  and  sympa- 
thetic emotional  feelings,  as  in  Fenn  and  Price's 
"  'Op-o*-Me-Thumb,"  or  else  a  consciousness  of 
having  newly  realized  and  observed  some  essen- 
tial truth  of  human  existence,  as  in  Alice 
Gerstenberg's  "Overtones,"  Paul  Hervieu's 
"Modesty,"  and  George  Cram  Cook  and  Susan 
Glaspell's  "Suppressed  Desires."  In  any  case, 
the  practical  dramatist,  having  sought  to  pro- 
duce some  definite  emotional  effect  in  his  audi- 


78    Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

ence,  by  appealing  to  and  provoking  their  emo- 
tional natures  to  functioning,  pre-determines 
what  that  effect  shall  be  and  then  marshals  all 
his  forces — plot,  characterization,  dialogue,  set- 
ting,— so  as  to  get  that  effect  dramatically  to 
his  public.  The  initial  step  on  the  part  of  the 
playwright  is  to  determine  what  impression  he 
would  convey  to  his  audience  and  what  emo- 
tional response  he  would  secure. 

It  is  a  psychological  observation  that  the  hu- 
man mind  is  ever  reaching  out  and  searching 
for  something  tangible,  for  some  definite,  con- 
crete thing  on  which  it  can  lay  hold.  In  ex- 
pressing its  own  ideas  and  feelings — since  ideas 
and  feelings  cannot,  as  psychologists  hold,  be 
expressed  in  terms  of  themselves — it  is  ever 
looking  for  that  in  life  which  most  adequately 
represents  and  expresses  those  ideas  and  feel- 
ings. An  audience,  in  its  very  psychological 
nature,  unconsciously  demands  something  def- 
inite, tangible  and  complete ;  it  must  have  some- 
thing that  it  can  recognize  and  appreciate,  just 
as  personality  is  a  recognizable  element  in  a 
human  being.  No  work  of  art  can  claim  dis- 
tinction as  such,  unless  it  has  a  significant 
meaning — not  in  any  didactic  sense  of  course — 
unless  it  provoke  response  and  leave  an  impres- 
sion of  one  kind  or  another.  Dumas  fils  said 
that  he  always  wished  to  leave  with  the  spec- 
tators something  to  think  over.     Indeed,  since 


The  Theme  of  the  One- Act  Play    79 

the  human  mind  does  seek  that  which  is  definite 
and  tangible,  there  is  little  hope  for  the  One- 
act  play,  or  for  that  matter,  for  any  product, 
if  it  leaves  one  with  no  definite  impression  at  all, 
or  else  with  several  somewhat  in  conflict  and  un- 
related. Unity  of  eifect  is  a  fundamental  law 
of  the  One-act  play. 

The  insistence  that  a  One-act  play  have  a 
theme  or  an  idea  is  not  arbitrary  dictum;  it 
is  but  a  concession  to  the  psychological  de- 
mands of  the  human  mind.  "If  you  inculcate 
an  idea  into  your  play,"  said  Clyde  Fitch,  "so 
much  the  better  for  your  play  and  for  you  and 
for  your  audience.  In  fact  there  is  small  hope 
for  your  play  as  a  play,  if  you  do  not  have 
some  idea  in  it,  somewhere  and  somehow,  even 
if  it  be  hidden."  All  human  beings  in  their  in- 
ter-reaction in  every-day  life,  receive  many  and 
various  re-current  impressions  about  this  and 
that  which,  in  time,  crystallize  into  precepts, 
beliefs,  convictions,  likes  and  dislikes,  or  preju- 
dices if  you  will.  These  opinions  finally  come  to 
stand  for  what  life  has  taught  them  or  what 
they  think  it  has  taught  them.  These  opinions 
become  vital  motive  forces.  And  the  play  which 
has  for  its  end  and  aim  the  emphasis  of  one  of 
these  larger  forces  of  life  has  gone  a  long  way 
to  provoke  emotional  response,  because  the  play 
is  fundamentally  about  something. 

It  has  been  pointed  out  in  the  chapter  on  The 


80    Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

Dramatist  and  His  Audience,  that  an  assembled 
group  is  not  particularly  inclined  to  take  the 
initiative  in  thinking  and  in  feeling;  the  stimuli 
for  them  must  come  from  the  play  itself,  as  it 
appears  in  concrete  form  on  the  stage.  Ac- 
cordingly, the  dramatist  must  do  the  initial 
thinking  and  feeling  for  them ;  he  must  pro- 
voke them  to  responding  in  the  way  that  he 
would  have  them  respond.  At  the  outset,  he 
must  have  a  definite  effect  in  mind.  It  may 
be  that  the  playwright  wishes  to  emphasize  a 
fact  of  life,  as  in  George  Middleton's  "Crimi- 
nals" and  "Mothers" ;  or  it  may  be  that  he 
wishes  to  reveal  a  definite  personality  or  char- 
acter, as  in  Sir  James  M.  Barrie's  "The  Twelve- 
Pound  Look"  and  Lewis  Beach's  "The  Clod"; 
on  the  other  hand,  he  may  wish  to  impress  his 
audience  with  the  significance  of  a  given  sit- 
uation or  action,  as  in  August  Strindberg's 
"Countess  Julie"  and  "Facing  Death";  or, 
again,  he  may  desire  to  provoke  one's  feelings  by 
appealing  to  one  of  the  fundamental  human 
emotions, — love  and  affection,  hate,  anger,  jeal- 
ousy, patriotism, — as  in  such  plays  as  George 
Middleton's  "The  Cheat  of  Pity,"  Fenn  and 
Price's  " 'Op-o'-Me-Thumb,"  Marion  Craig 
Wentworth's  "War  Brides,"  and  Zona  Gale's 
"Neighbors."  In  any  case,  every  play  em- 
bodies a  theme  no  matter  how  general  or  re- 
mote ;  for  no  reasonable  plot  can  be  related,  no 


The  Theme  of  the  One- Act  Play    81 

character  revealed,  no  significant  situation  pre- 
sented, no  dramatic  forces  effectively  handled 
to  a  given  outcome,  unless  there  be  a  theme  to 
give  them  direction.  The  high  technical  and 
artistic  qualities  of  the  One-act  play,  when  it 
is  at  its  best,  and  the  singleness  and  unity  of 
impression  which  it  must  leave  in  the  mind  and 
heart  of  the  audience,  make  it  well  nigh  im- 
perative that  the  One-act  form  must  be  about 
something  that  is  specific,  definite,  and  com- 
plete. 

It  must  be  emphasized  that  the  One-act  play 
strives  for  impression,  not  for  conviction  or 
conversion.  A  play  made  to  the  order  of  a 
moral  precept  or  a  philosophical  propaganda 
is  very  apt  to  reveal  its  source,  and  that,  too, 
at  the  expense  of  its  dramatic  value.  Convic- 
tion or  conversion  may,  in  given  cases,  result 
from  a  play ;  but  they  are  not  the  function  of 
drama.  Indeed  a  play  is  none  the  worse  for 
having  a  definite  opinion  of  life  behind  it,  but 
it  must  not  protrude  itself  at  the  expense  of 
the  larger  values  of  human  life.  "The  play 
really  great,"  says  Mr.  A.  B.  Walkley,  "is  the 
play  which  first  stirs  our  emotions  profoundly 
and  then  gives  a  meaning  and  direction  to  our 
feelings  by  the  unity  and  truth  of  some  under- 
lying idea."  No  play,  and  least  of  all  the  One- 
act  form,  is  concerned  with  didacticism  and 
propagandism:  its  aim  is  not  to  point  a  moral 


82    Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

or  to  emphasize  one's  philosophy  of  hfe.  Prop- 
agandism  is  all  right  in  its  place  but  it  is  a 
mighty  bloodless  substitute  for  the  real  motive 
force  of  a  play.  The  One-act  play  aims  to  body 
forth  some  truth  or  some  impression  of  life; 
but  in  dealing  with  these  truths  and  impressions, 
the  play  does  not  aim  to  discuss  them,  or  to 
expound  them,  much  less  advocate  or  argue 
them.  The  moral  might  be  suggested  and  hint- 
ed at ;  in  no  event,  however,  should  it  be  made 
the  obvious  didactic  purpose  of  the  play. 

Entertainment,  not  argument,  is  the  func- 
tion of  a  good  play ;  to  reveal  life,  not  to  arouse 
dispute,  is  another  element;  and  to  provoke 
emotional  response,  not  to  advocate  a  policy, 
is  a  third.  Just  because  a  theme  may  be  im- 
portant and  because  the  development  thereof 
may  stimulate  thought,  there  is  no  reason  why 
it  should  stir  up  dispute.  Argumentation  has 
no  place  in  the  One-act  play.  If  the  play- 
wright attempt  to  solve  or  to  interpret  any 
problem  which  society  finds  problematical,  he 
is  engaging  in  a  dangerous  procedure.  If  the 
human  race  has  not  yet  found  a  clear  answer 
to  a  question  of  vital  consequence,  it  is  because 
the  question  is  involved  and  has  not  yet  been 
solved  along  lines  of  human  nature.  Charles 
Frohman,  in  explaining  his  refusal  even  to  read 
propaganda  plays  on  the  labor  question  and 
woman  suffrage,  said:    "If  the  author  does  not 


The  Theme  of  the  One- Act  Play     83 

take  sides,  his  play  has  no  conclusion;  if  he 
does  take  sides,  he  offends  at  least  half  his 
audience."  A  good  play  must  indeed  be  en- 
tertaining, but  it  may  be  something  more  with- 
out degenerating  into  a  sermon  or  a  treatise. 
A  play  that  is  a  philosophical  bore  cannot 
claim  absolution  on  the  ground  that  it  is  a  val- 
uable sermon.     Horace  has  well  written, 

"But  he  who  precept  with  amusement  blends, 
And  charms  the  fancy  while  the  heart  he  mends, 
Wins  every  suflFrage." 


The  Structural  Value  of  a  Theme 

It  is  singleness  of  impression  that  identifies 
the  One-act  play  as  a  distinctive  dramatic  art- 
form,  more  than  any  other  one  thing.  Just  as 
the  incidents  and  forces  in  the  play  lead  to  a 
final  outcome,  so,  also,  must  they  produce  a 
dominant  impression.  Scattered  impressions 
and  uncertainty  of  emphasis  mean  no  impres- 
sion at  all;  no  impression  at  all  means  that 
there  is  nothing  tangible,  nothing  definite  upon 
which  the  mind  naturally  seeks  to  lay  hold. 
Not  to  have  a  definite  theme  in  a  play  means 
that  it  violates  a  fundamental  psychological 
law. 

For  structural  reasons,  if  for  no  other,  a 
theme  and  a  definite  intent  on  the  part  of  the 
author  are  necessary  to  secure  that  well-ordered 


i 


84    Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

unity  so  essential  to  a  finished  art  product. 
Structurally  speaking,  a  dramatist  cannot  be 
sure  of  his  way  unless  he  knows  where  he  is 
going.  A  careful  study  of  Anton  Tchekov's 
"A  Marriage  Proposal,"  August  Strindberg's 
"Pariah,"  and  Sir  James  M.  Barrie's  "The 
Twelve  Pound  Look,"  strongly  indicate  that 
these  writers  aimed  at  definite  effects.  The 
end  in  view  and  the  impression  to  be  made 
very  largely  determine  both  the  selection  of 
materials  and  the  method  of  development  and 
construction  whether  in  building  a  house  or  in 
writing  a  One-act  play.  To  secure  a  definite 
and  unified  effect,  unity  of  treatment,  of  tone, 
of  idea,  and  of  purpose  are  essentially  funda- 
mental. Not  only  is  this  unity  of  impression 
essential  but  its  very  intensity  depends  upon 
its  purpose  and  nature.  The  end  in  view  is  an 
all  important  structural  consideration ;  there 
can  be  no  plan,  no  construction,  no  procedure 
until  the  playwright  has  definitely  determined, 
in  his  own  mind  at  least,  what  that  end  is  to  be. 
Dumas  pere  said,  "You  should  not  begin  your 
work  until  you  have  your  concluding  scene, 
movement  and  speech  clear  in  your  mind.  How 
can  you  tell  what  road  you  ought  to  take  until 
you  know  where  you  are  going."  A  singleness 
of  theme  and  intent  is  essential  to  unity  and 
completeness  of  structure. 

It  is  wholly  within  reason  and  logic  to  as- 


The  Theme  of  the  One- Act  Play     85 

sume  that  a  One-act  play  actually  constructed 
and  developed  with  a  definite  theme  and  intent 
in  mind  is  most  likely  to  possess  both  the  unity 
and  the  simplicity,  to  say  nothing  of  buoyancy 
and  freshness,  which  a  good  play  requires. 
Purposeless  scenes  in  and  from  actual  life  are 
apt  to  be  digressive  and  uncertain ;  frequently 
they  use  incident  and  character  in  such  a  way 
as  to  distract  rather  than  concentrate  the  pow- 
ers of  attention.  Mere  story-telling  without  a 
definite  end  in  view  is  likely  to  become  involved 
and  intricate  beyond  the  bounds  of  dramatic 
unity  and  dramatic  art.  A  character  play,  too, 
without  a  motivating  force  may  not  have  a 
satisfactory  unifying  principle ;  whereas  a  play 
that  deliberately  sets'  out  to  produce  a  given 
emotional  effect  is  very  likely  to  be  held  by  its 
very  intent  to  organic  oneness.  It  is  highly 
desirable,  then,  for  structural  reasons,  that  the 
One-act  play  have  a  definite  theme. 

Again,  if  there  is  a  definite  effect  to  be  had, 
this  will  preclude  to  a  minimum  the  possibility 
of  erratic  digression, — a  thing  wholly  foreign 
to  the  art  of  the  One-act  form.  A  singleness  of 
intent,  likewise,  will  eliminate  the  danger  of 
false  emphasis  on  unessentials  and  will  enhance 
the  probabilities  of  nice  proportion.  Instead  of 
indirectness  and  haziness,  there  will  result  di- 
rectness, swiftness,  and  brevity.  From  the 
point  of  view  of  dramatic  construction,  an  ob- 


86    Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

jective  point,  a  definite  intent  is  the  "governor" 
in  the  "dramatic  engine" ;  it  determines  the  ma- 
terial, the  method,  and  the  movement  of  the 
whole. 

To  the  beginner  in  dramatic  writing,  noth- 
ing can  be  more  valuable,  and  surely  nothing  is 
more  fundamental,  than  a  determination  on  his 
part  to  produce  a  definite  emotional  effect.  A 
writer  with  a  serious  intent  and  dominating 
theme  will  not  go  far  astray.  If  he .  is  sure 
of  his  outcome,  there  is  less  likelihood  of  illogi- 
cal dramatic  movement:  the  plot  will  move  di- 
rectly forward  to  the  final  outcome.  His  char- 
acterization will  be  consistent ;  his  sense  of 
relations  and  situations  will  be  constant  and 
intense.  There  will  be  no  important  situations 
unprepared  for,  no  melodramatic  surprises,  and 
a  minimum  of  artificiality  in  eff^ects.  Above  all, 
knowing  what  eff^ect  he  is  to  get,  he  will  be  sure 
to  stop  when  that  effect  is  reached,  a  thing 
which  by  no  means  a  few  playwrights  are  un- 
able to  do.  In  a  word,  to  develop  a  play  from 
a  single  intent  is  the  sole  means  by  which  a 
writer  of  the  One-act  play  may  hope  to  insure 
his  work  against  obvious  defects  in  selection  of 
materials  and  in   constructional  excellence. 

Again,  if  the  writer  of  the  One-act  play 
knows  intensively  just  what  kind  of  effect  he 
wishes  to  secure,  the  chances  are  that  the 
theme  is  so  essentially  a  part  of  his  own  inner 


The  Theme  of  the  One- Act  Play    87 

being  and  emotional  nature,  that  the  very  in- 
tent itself  is  the  very  source  of  his  own  dramatic 
zeal.  A  desire  to  make  others  think,  feel,  and 
want  to  do  and  to  be  is  really  the  fountain  head 
of  one's  own  dramatic  power.  Zeal,  devotion, 
interest,  enthusiasm  on  the  part  of  the  play- 
wright, provoke  corresponding  emotional  func- 
tioning in  the  minds  of  the  audience.  The  au- 
thor of  "War  Brides"  must  have  felt  keenly 
on  the  subject  of  the  sacredness  of  marriage  and 
motherhood,  else  the  play  could  not  possibly  be 
so  moving  when  seen  upon  the  stage  with  Nazi- 
mova  in  the  leading  role.  George  Middleton, 
according  to  his  own  testimony,  has  felt  keenly 
about  the  various  aspects  of  the  problems  of 
modern  woman ;  accordingly,  his  One-act  plays 
dealing  with  these  subjects,  arouse  one's  appre- 
ciation of  these  problems  as  never  before.  An- 
ton Tchekov  must  have  appreciated  the  humor- 
ous aspects  of  Russian  life  else  he  could  not 
have  written  "The  Boor"  and  "A  Marriage  Pro- 
posal." No  author  can  feel  dramatically  or 
can  write  dramatically  unless  he  is  intently 
zealous  in  what  he  desires  to  do — unless  he 
knows  what  impression  he  wishes  to  leave  in  the 
minds  and  hearts  of  his  audience. 


88    Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 


Sources  and  Nature  of  Dramatic  Themes 

Just  how  and  where  a  playwright  obtains  his 
theme  is  quite  a  relative  matter ;  time,  place,  oc- 
casion, stimulus,  etc.,  are  wholly  varying  ele- 
ments. At  least  one  precept  at  this  point  is 
vital:  in  general,  it  is  not  really  conducive  to 
good  play-making  deliberately  to  choose  a 
theme  in  the  sense  of  making  one.  Spontaneity 
and  exuberance  are  characteristics  of  good 
drama ;  any  artificiality  in  theme  or  in  tech- 
nique is  very  apt  to  forestall  any  such  effect. 
One  dramatist  of  consequence  has  said  that  his 
experience  was  that  "you  never  deliberately 
choose  a  theme.  You  lie  awake,  or  you  go 
walking,  and  suddenly  there  flashes  into  your 
mind  a  contrast,  a  spiritual  irony,  an  old  inci- 
dent carrying  some  general  significance.  Hound 
this  your  mind  broods,  and  there  is  the  germ 
of  your  play.  ...  It  is  not  advisable  for  a 
playwright  to  start  out  at  all  unless  he  has  so 
felt  or  seen  something,  that  he  feels,  as  it  ma- 
tures in  his  mind,  that  he  must  express  it,  and 
in  dramatic  form."  Whatever  the  occasioning 
stimuli  of  individual  themes  may  be,  all,  in  the 
last  analysis,  come  out  of  some  experience  or 
observation  of  life.  The  result  may  be  light 
comedy,  serious  tragedy,  melodrama,  farce, 
fantasy,  light  entertainment,  or  what  you  will; 


The  Theme  of  the  One- Act  Play    89 

the  motive  force  thereof  has  had  its  origin  in 
life  of  some  sort. 

George  Middleton  has  given  the  impression 
that  the  themes  of  his  large  group  of  One-act 
plays  dealing  with  significant  aspects  of  modern 
social  life,  particularly  aspects  of  the  life  of 
woman,  were  had  from  direct  observation  of  cur- 
rent life.  Obviously  Anton  Tchekov's  "The 
Boor"  and  "A  Marriage  Proposal"  came  from 
intimate  knowledge  of  the  peasant  life  of  Rus- 
sia; and  one  is  of  the  opinion  that  August 
Strindberg's  "Countess  Julie,"  "The  Stronger," 
"Pariah"  and  "Facing  Death"  reflect  something 
of  his  own  highly  individual  experiences  and 
belief  that  men  and  women,  and  particularly 
women,  are  vampire-like  creatures  in  their  leech- 
like and  blood-sucking  effects  upon  each  other. 
One  feels,  too,  that  the  authors  of  "Modesty," 
"Rosalie,"  "Charming  Leandre,"  "The  Post 
Scriptum,"  and  "Indian  Summer"  were  thor- 
oughly familiar  with  social  aspects  of  French 
life;  and  certainly  Giuseppe  Giacosa's  "The 
Wager"  reveals  a  knowledge  of  Italian  life.  A 
careful  study  of  Arthur  Schnitzler's  "Anatol" 
plays  and  of  his  "The  Green  Cockatoo,"  "Par- 
acelsus," and  "The  Companion"  shows  them  to 
be  the  epitome  of  the  highly  cultivated  and 
rather  superficial  life  of  the  aristocratic  classes 
of  present-day  Vienna.  The  symbolic  and  mys- 
tic "The  Intruder"  of  Maurice  Maeterlinck  is, 


90     Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

no  doubt,  an  expression  of  his  own  philosophical 
sub-conscious  and  half-i'ealized  feelings.  Her- 
mann Sudermann's  three  plays  of  "Morituri" 
("Teja,"  "Fritschen,"  and  "The  Eternal  Mas- 
culine") savor  of  a  knowledge  of  the  spirit  and 
tone  of  Prussian  life;  and  Sir  James  M.  Barrie's 
recent  One-act  war  play,  "Der  Tag,"  was  un- 
doubtedly provoked  by  more  or  less  personal 
experience,  observation,  and  feeling.  Further- 
more, Susan  Glaspell  and  Alice  Gerstenberg 
must  have  a  keen  sense  of  appreciation  of  fem- 
inine nature  else  they  could  not  well  have  written 
"Suppressed  Desires"  and  "Overtones."  It  may 
be  concluded  that  the  playwright  need  not  hope 
to  write  very  successful  plays  unless  he  have 
a  sympathetic  and  intimate  knowledge  of  the 
life  from  which  he  gets  his  dramatic  themes. 
To  know  life  means  that  one  appreciates  and 
feels  its  dynamic  forces ;  and  a  recognition  of 
dynamic  forces  as  they  come  together  in  situa- 
tions, crises,  and  crucial  moments  is  an  essen- 
tial in  dramaturgy. 

Whatever  be  the  individual  source,  there  is 
always  somewhere  a  germinal  idea,  a  germinal 
feeling,  or  a  germinal  situation  or  character 
study,  which  serves  as  the  motive  force  to  set 
the  constructive  imagination  to  work ;  it  is  that 
from  which  it  receives  its  original  impulse. 
While  this  is  the  starting  point  and  often  the 
chief  intent  of  the  play,  it  is  not  always,  in  fact 


The  Theme  of  the  One- Act  Play    91 

seldom,  the  beginning  of  the  actual  plotting  and 
subsequent  development.  It  is,  however,  that 
which  awakens  the  consciousness  of  the  writer 
to  the  dramatic  possibilities  of  a  story.  Often- 
times it  is  a  mere  suggestion,  or  rather  vague 
and  indefinite  impression  which  does  not  crystal- 
lize into  something  unified,  tangible,  and  specific 
until  by  accident  or  otherwise  it  assumes  dra- 
matic shape  and  power.  Rarely  does  the  germ- 
inal idea  reveal  just  what  kind  of  play  will  re- 
sult; this  is  a  matter  for  subsequent  develop- 
ment, a  problem  in  constructive  technique.  The 
general  idea  may  be  serious,  comic,  or  even  light 
and  fanciful;  it  can  be  graceful,  amusing,  and 
airy, — but  triviality  kills  it.  In  a  word,  the 
best  One-act  plays  must  have  a  telling  theme, 
one  that  bears  closely  on  some  deep-rooted  fact 
or  principle  of  life. 

The  actual  concrete  sources  of  themes  for 
One-act  plays  are  many  and  varied.  Actual 
current  happenings,  episodes,  incidents  in  every- 
day life;  conversations,  exchange  of  ideas  and 
sentiments  with  acquaintances;  suddenly 
aroused  emotional  functioning  provoked  by 
reading,  by  hearing  a  story  or  a  lecture,  or  by 
observing  some  moving  scene ;  one's  own  per- 
sonal experiences  of  a  more  or  less  significant 
nature — comic  or  tragic;  newspaper  accounts 
of  happenings  which  seem  to  sum  up  the  out- 
come of  antecedent  causes  real  or  imaginary ; 


92     Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

suddenly  conceived  ideas,  or  sudden  impulses ; 
study  of  human  motives  and  human  personali- 
ties among  one's  associates ;  and  particularly 
the  author's  own  study  of  his  own  self  with  a 
view  to  determining  his  own  real  inner  nature 
— these  are  some  of  the  specific  sources  from 
which,  as  in  a  twinkling  of  an  eye,  a  dramatic 
theme  may  come  to  one's  consciousness.  Once 
recognized,  once  its  dramatic  power  felt,  the 
theme  in  embryo  is  a  distinctive  motive  force 
in  the  future  development  of  the  play  as  it 
gradually  shapes  itself  into  form. 

Above  all,  the  theme  must  be  one  that  is 
dramatic  and  will  lend  itself  readily  to  dramatic 
handling.  In  the  first  place,  it  must  be  able  to 
be  emphasized  in  such  way  that  it  will  appeal 
to  the  assembled  group ;  it  must  provoke  their 
attention  and  emotional  response.  It  must  ap- 
peal to  those  large  and  basic  motives  in  human 
life.  Hervieu's  "Modesty"  appeals  because  it 
emphasizes  the  fact  that  however  much  a  woman 
may  think  that  she  wishes  to  be  dealt  with 
frankly  and  bluntly,  innately  she  is  susceptible 
to  appeals  to  her  vanity  and  flattery.  Lady 
Gregory's  "Hyacinth  Halvey"  appeals  to  the 
observations  of  human  kind  that  a  good  repu- 
tation, quite  as  much  as  a  bad  one,  cannot  easily 
be  lived  down.  In  the  second  place,  the  theme 
must  be  able  to  be  developed  through  a  plot 
into  a  significant  and  final  dramatic  situation. 


The  Theme  of  the  One- Act  Play     93 

An  audience  does  not  respond  to  any  uncer- 
tainty in  the  outcome ;  there  must  be  a  finale, 
a  complete  ending.  William  Butler  Yeats's 
"The  Hour-Glass,"  Arthur  Schnitzler's  "The 
Green  Cockatoo,"  George  Middleton's  "Crimi- 
nals," Fenn  and  Price's  " 'Op-o'-Me-Thumb," 
Anton  Tchekov's  "A  Marriage  Proposal,"  Lord 
Dunsany's  "The  Lost  Silk  Hat,"  Davis  and 
Sheenan's  "Efficiency,"  and  Mary  Aldis's  "Ex- 
treme Unction"  are  illustrations.  Another 
consideration  is  that  a  theme  should  be  of  such 
a  nature  as  to  give  rise  to  some  sort  of  dra- 
matic inter-play  of  forces.  Not  all  One-act 
plays  give  rise  to  a  significant  struggle — Lord 
Dunsany's  "The  Glittering  Gate,"  Lady 
Gregory's  "Spreading  the  News,"  Zona  Gale's 
"Neighbors"  are  not  characterized  by  a  marked 
struggle — but,  on  the  whole,  a  theme  that  has 
such  latent  possibilities  in  it  that  a  struggle  of 
some  sort  may  come  from  it,  is  really  quite  de- 
sirable. A  theme  that  lends  itself  to  a  dramatic 
struggle  will  have  in  it  one  element  with  which 
human  nature  is  familiar,  and  to  which  the 
average  audience  readily  responds. 


CHAPTER  V 
THE    PLOT    OF    THE    ONE-ACT    PLAY 

Importance  and  Nature  of  Plot 

In  the  preceding  chapter,  it  was  pointed  out 
that,  for  practical  constructive  work,  the  first 
concern  of  the  author  of  a  One-act  play  is  that 
he  determine  definitely  the  theme,  and  the  domi- 
nant emotional  effect  which  he  wishes  to  carry 
to  his  audience.  When  he  has  once  determined 
these  two  things,  his  next  important  considera- 
tion is  how  to  present  them  to  the  assembled 
group.  The  answer  to  the  question  is  that 
they  are  presented  through  plot  and  its  ancil- 
lary elements.  The  theme  of  the  play  must  be 
made  manifest,  else  there  is  no  effect ;  emotional 
functioning  must  be  provoked,  else  there  is  no 
drama.  Plot  is  the  concrete  exemplification 
whereby  these  ends  may  be  secured. 

In  the  natural  course  of  events,  the  chances 
are  that  at  the  very  time  that  the  theme  and 
intent  of  the  play  are  developing  into  definite 
form  the  plot  also  is  taking  shape.  The  two 
processes  are  usually  very  closely  interlinked ; 
but  for  constructive  purposes  they  should  be 
clearly  and  separately  conceived  by  the  play- 

94 


The  Plot  of  the  One- Act  Play      95 

Wright.  In  the  finished  product,  of  course, 
theme  and  plot  should  be  so  subtly  interwoven 
that  the  average  person  will  conceive  them  as 
one.  The  dramatist,  nevertheless,  must  be  con- 
cerned with  two  problems :  he  must  know  the 
nature  and  purport  of  his  single  effect,  and  he 
must  know  by  what  constructive  process  he  is 
to  secure  that  end. 

Whether  the  theme  has  grown  out  of  the  plot 
or  the  plot  has  grown  out  of  the  theme,  plot  is 
an  unusually  vital  element  in  the  One-act  play. 
In  this  shorter  form  of  drama,  there  is  not 
always  opportunity  for  the  largest  possibihties 
in  characterization.  For  this  reason  one  is 
safe  in  generalizing  that,  in  the  One-act  play, 
plot  comes  first  and  characterization  second ; 
a  good  dramatic  plot  will  often  make  amends 
for  a  certain  lack  of  characterization,  but 
characterization  itself  will  never  redeem  trite- 
ness of  plot.  Moreover,  a  dramatic  story — 
and  a  play  cannot  be  anything  else — in  its  very 
nature  is  a  plot;  a  dramatic  narrative  without 
plot  is  inconceivable.  A  story  of  interplay  of 
forces,  under  certain  definite  conditions  with 
certain  issues  at  stake,  in  the  course  of  which 
there  comes  a  crucial  and  final  moment2^  has  the 
very  essence  of  plot.  A  strong  injunction  to 
the  writer  of  the  One-act  form  would  be, — Look 
well  to  your  plot! 

There    are   a   number   of   rather   interesting 


96     Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

definitions  of  plot.  One  critic  has  suggested 
that  a  plot  is  an  exemplification  or  an  illustra- 
tion of  a  theme ;  or,  that  a  plot  is  a  dramatic 
instance  illustrating  a  proposition.  Another 
writer  has  stated  that  plot  is  a  story  whereby  a 
theme  is  emphasized  to  the  degree  that  it  pro- 
vokes the  desired  emotional  response  in  the 
audience.  A  third,  considering  character  as 
basic  in  plot,  says  that  plot  is  a  series  of  inter- 
related incidents  and  situations  wherein  char- 
acter unconsciously  reveals  itself.  Again,  plot 
has  been  defined  as  the  skeleton  of  a  play. 
And  Aristotle  asserts  that  a  plot  "embraces 
not  only  the  deeds,  the  incidents,  the  situations, 
but  also  the  mental  processes,  and  the  motives 
which  underlie  the  outward  events  or  wliich 
result  from  them.  It  is  the  compendious  ex- 
pression for  all  these  forces  working  together 
toward  a  definite  end."  From  a  literary  point 
of  view,  these  definitions  are  interesting  and  in 
individual  cases,  comprehensive ;  but,  for  con- 
structive play-writing,  they  are  not  of  much 
value.  For  working  purposes,  the  matter  of 
plot  must  be  handled  from  a  rationalized  and 
structural  point  of  view. 

Since  the  One-act  play  has  for  its  end  a 
singleness  of  impression,  it  follows  that  the  first 
essential  element  of  its  plot  must  be  a  specific 
dramatic  situation.  It  is  for  this  crucial  dra- 
matic situation  that  the  One-act  form  exists; 


The  Plot  of  the  One- Act  Play      97 

and  it  is  toward  this  end  that  all  the  ancillary 
elements  of  plot-development  converge.  In 
J.  Hartley  Manners'  "Happiness,"  this  dra- 
matic situation  lies  in  the  realization  by  the 
blase  and  luxurj^-sated  Mrs.  Chrystal-Fole  that 
happiness,  as  expressed  by  the  thoroughly- 
human  working-girl,  Jenny,  is  just  "Lookin' 
forward."  In  George  Middleton's  "Criminals" 
the  situation  is  that  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Alfred 
York's  recognition  of  the  fact  that  they  have 
reared  their  daughter,  Janet,  in  innocence  but 
also  in  ignorance,  and  that,  on  her  wedding 
day,  they  have  placed  her  nuptial  bhss  in 
jeopardy  because  they  had  not  taught  her  the 
physical  facts  of  life.  In  Sir  James  M. 
Barrie's  "Der  Tag,"  a  strong  and  moving  war 
play,  the  crucial  dramatic  situation  is  that 
wherein  an  Emperor  is  brought  to  the  full  reali- 
zation of  the  fact  that  his  own  vanity  and  mis- 
directed ambition  have  impelled  him  to  sign  the 
declaration  of  war  which  plunged  the  European 
nations  into  a  cataclysm  of  horror,  and  that 
even  Culture,  whom  he  had  so  proudly  con- 
sidered his  own  possession,  abandons  him  and 
will  no  longer  allow  him  to  be  her  sole  benefactor 
and  champion.  In  August  Strindbcrg's 
"Countess  Julie,"  the  crucial  situation  lies  in 
Julie's  full  recognition  that  onlv  bv  suicide  can 
she  escape  the  humiliation  of  her  personality's 
having   been   overcome   by   the   seducing  Jean. 


98    Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

The  very  basis  of  the  plot  of  a  One-act  play  is 
a  determining  crisis  or  situation  in  which  the 
character  usually  realizes  both  his  own  person- 
ality and  the  circumstances  under  which  it  is 
made  manifest.  In  such  a  moment  a  whole 
character  is  emphasized  in  the  act  of  meeting 
a  significant  and  often  crucial  test.  A  signifi- 
cant and  vital  crucial  moment  is  the  basic  ele- 
ment in  the  plot  of  a  One-act  play. 

In  constructing  a  plot,  the  dramatist  must 
not  confuse  situation  with  incident.  An  inci- 
dent is  but  a  more  or  less  accidental  happening, 
an  individual  group  of  details  forming  a  com- 
plete interest  in  themselves ;  the  group  has  no 
relation  to  any  other  group  either  preceding  or 
following.  The  essential  basis  of  situation  is 
relation — active  relations  between  character 
and  incident.  A  situation  is  a  series  of  details 
which  cohere  into  a  singleness  of  impression. 
An  incident  is  apart  from  consequences  or  from 
causes ;  a  situation  presents  concrete  and  sig- 
nificant relations  between  persons  and  persons 
and  between  persons  and  incidents  or  circum- 
stances. A  crucial  and  dramatic  situation  is 
the  result  of  antecedent  causes ;  it  is  always  re- 
lated to  a  current  or  series  of  events,  and,  if 
considered  wholly  by  itself,  is  incomplete.  A 
dramatic  situation  is  an  active,  causal  relation- 
ship between  character  and  incident. 

The  elements,  then,  of  plot  in  a  One-act  play 


The  Plot  of  the  One- Act  Play      99 

are  incident  and  character  so  inter-reacting  one 
upon  the  other  as  to  give  rise  to  a  dramatic 
situation.  More  specifically  stated,  plot  is 
always  active,  ever  changing,  constantly  moving 
from  one  relation  to  another, — and  that  too 
with  increasing  significance  and  interest.  In- 
cident alone  does  not  constitute  plot;  nor  does 
character  alone  produce  plot.  An  incident  or 
happening  that  does  not  affect  some  human 
being  is  not  an  element  of  a  plot ;  and  a  human 
character  whose  personality  does  not  affect  in- 
cident cannot  possibly  be  a  moving  dramatic 
force.  Character  in  relation  to  incident  is  the 
motive  force  in  dramatic  plot. 

Accordingly,  plot — a  sequential  and  dramatic 
inter-play  of  forces  leading  to  a  crucial  moment 
— results  when  characters  of  certain  individual- 
ized personalities  are  brought  together  into 
relation  with  each  other  under  certain  well- 
defined  and  individual  circumstances.  Because 
of  the  very  nature  of  the  personalities  and  of 
the  incidents  or  circumstances,  there  is  set  up 
inter-reaction,  and  a  series  of  situations  results. 
This  inter-reaction  evolved  to  a  conclusive  end- 
ing is  the  plot.  One  situation  stimulates  the 
characters  to  react  upon  each  other  only  to 
enter  upon  a  second  situation  in  which  the  rela- 
tions between  characters  and  between  characters 
and  incidents  are  somewhat  different  from 
what  they  were  before;  the  new  situation  again 


100  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

stimulates  the  characters  to  action  and  re- 
action with  the  result  that  a  third  relation 
comes  into  being,  in  which  characters  and  inci- 
dents are  on  a  different  footing  again.  There 
is  no  standing  still ;  one  situation  but  gives  rise 
to  the  next  and  the  next  to  the  following  one 
until  a  crucial  moment  is  reached.  There  is  a 
progressive  evolution  until  the  inter-play  among 
characters  and  incidents  comes  to  a  significant 
finality.  Character  and  incident  are  the  vital 
elements  in  plotting. 

The  writer  of  the  One-act  play  who  expects 
to  evolve  a  plot  by  "letting  his  character  de- 
velop," and  by  this  alone ;  and  who  does  not 
take  into  consideration  incident  and  its  dra- 
matic influence,  is  going  on  a  fool's  errand. 
The  chances  are  that  if  he  let  his  character 
work  out  its  own  end  irrespective  of  incident, 
there  will  be  no  end.  It  is  the  business  and 
the  prerogative  of  the  dramatist  so  to  conceive 
and  so  to  handle  both  character  and  incident 
as  to  secure  the  end  and  singleness  of  effect 
that  he  wishes  to  get  across  the  foot-lights  into 
the  minds  and  hearts  of  the  assembled  group : 
he  must  put  his  own  constructive  technique  into 
the  working  of  his  plot.  The  playwright  must 
use  incident  as  well  as  character  as  plot  fac- 
tors ;  both  are  determining  elements  in  plot- 
building.  If  the  determinants  are  one-sided, 
there  results  but  little  inter-reaction  and  conse- 


The  Plot  of  the  One- Act  Play     101 

quently  little  or  no  plot-action.  "A  plot,"  says 
Professor  Pitkin,  "is  a  climactic  series  of  events 
each  of  which  both  determines  and  is  determined 
by  the  character  involved."  If  events  alone 
shape  the  destiny  of  character,  then  it  is  a 
passive  victim  of  circumstances ;  and  if  char- 
acter has  no  incident  to  serve  as  a  stimulus  or 
as  a  re-acting  force,  then  there  is  nothing  that 
will  give  rise  to  situation  or  to  the  development 
of  its  latent  personality.  In  evolving  his  plot, 
the  playwright  must  so  handle  character  and 
incident  that  there  will  be  inter-reaction  among 
them — each  factor  influencing  and  moulding  the 
other. 

The  opening  and  the  first  movement  of  Lord 
Dunsany's  "The  Lost  Silk  Hat,"  a  delightful 
social  comedy,  is  a  happy  illustration  of  the 
inter-play  of  character  upon  character  and  of 
character  on  incident,  giving  rise  to  a  progres- 
sive series  of  situations.  It  should  be  noted 
that  incident  as  well  as  character  gives  rise  to 
each  succeeding  situation. 

The  Caller  stands  on  a  doorstep,  "faultlessly 
dressed"  but  without  a  hat.  At  first  he  shows 
despair,  then  a  new  thought  engrosses  him. 

Enter  the  Laborer. 

Caller:  Excuse  me  a  moment.  Excuse  me 
— but — I'd  be  greatly  obliged  to  you  if — if  you 
could  see  your  way — in  fact,  you  can  be  of 
great  service  to  me  if 


102  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

Laborer:     Glad  to  do  what  I  can,  Sir. 

Caller:  Well,  all  I  really  want  you  to  do  is 
just  to  ring  that  bell  and  go  up  and  say — er — 
say  that  you've  come  to  see  the  drains,  or  any- 
thing like  that,  you  know,  and  get  hold  of  my 
hat  for  me. 

Laborer:     Get  hold  of  your  'at  1 

Caller:  Yes.  You  see,  I  left  my  hat  behind 
most  unfortunately.  It's  in  the  drawing-room 
(points  to  window),  that  room  there,  half  under 
the  long  sofa,  the  far  end  from  the  door.  And 
if  you  could  possibly  go  and  get  it,  why  I'd  be 
(The  Laborer's  expression  changes) — Why, 
what's  the  matter? 

Laborer:     (firmly)     I  don't  like  this  job. 

Caller:  Don't  like  this  job!  But  my  dear 
fellow,  don't  be  silly,  what  possible  harm ? 

Laborer:     Ah-h.     That's  what  I  don't  know. 

Caller:  But  what  harm  can  there  possibly 
be  in  so  simple  a  request?  What  harm  does 
there  seem  to  be? 

Laborer:     Oh,  it  seems  all  right. 

Caller:     Well,  then. 

Laborer:  All  these  crack  jobs  do  seem  all 
right. 

Caller:  But  I'm  not  asking  you  to  rob  the 
house. 

Laborer:  Don't  seem  as  if  you  are,  cer- 
tainly, but  I  don't  like  the  looks  of  it ;  what  if 


The  Plot  of  the  One- Act  Play     103 

there's  things  what  I  can't  help  taking  when  I 
gets  inside? 

Caller:  I  only  want  my  hat — Here,  I  say, 
please  don't  go  away — here's  a  sovereign,  it 
will  only  take  you  a  minute. 

Laborer:     What  I  want  to  know 

Caller:     Yes? 

Laborer:     — Is  what's  in  that  hat? 

Caller:     What's  in  the  hat? 

Laborer:     Yes;  that's  what  I  want  to  know. 

Caller:     What's  in  the  hat? 

Laborer:  Yes,  you  aren't  going  to  give  me 
a  sovereign ? 

Caller:     I'll  give  you  two  sovereigns. 

Laborer:  You  aren't  going  to  give  me  a 
sovereign,  and  raise  it  to  two  sovereigns,  for  an 
empty  hat? 

Caller:  But  I  must  have  my  hat.  I  can't 
be  seen  in  the  streets  like  this.  There's  nothing 
Ml  the  hat.     What  do  you  think's  in  the  hat? 

Laborer:  Ah,  I'm  not  clever  enough  to  say 
that,  but  it  looks  as  if  the  papers  was  in 
that  hat. 

Caller:     The  papers? 

Laborer:  Yes,  papers  proving,  if  you  can 
get  them,  that  you're  the  heir  to  that  big  house, 
and  some  poor  innocent  will  be  defrauded. 

Caller:  Look  here,  the  hat's  absolutely 
empty.     I  miist  have  my  hat.     If  there's  any- 


104  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

thing  in  it  you  shall  have  it  yourself  as  well  as 
the  two  pounds,  only  get  me  my  hat. 

Laborer:     Well,  that's  seems  all  right. 

Caller:  That's  right,  then  you'll  run  up  and 
get  it.*^ 

Laborer:  Seems  all  right  to  me  and  seems 
all  right  to  you.  But  it's  the  police  what  you 
and  I  have  got  to  think  of.  Will  it  seem  all 
right  to  them.'' 

Caller:     Oh,  for  heaven's  sake 


Laborer. 

:     Ah! 

Caller: 

What 

a  hopeless 

i  fool  you  are. 

Laborer. 

:     Ah! 

Caller: 

Look 

here. 

Laborer. 

:     Ah, 

I  got  you 

there,  mister. 

Caller: 

Look  here,  for  goodness  sake  don't 

go- 

Laborer. 

•     Ah! 

(Exit.) 

Characteristics  of  a  Dramatic  Plot 

If  the  author  were  writing  a  short-story  or 
a  novel,  much  of  the  action  of  the  plot  could  be 
narrated  and  the  reader  would  take  it  for 
granted.  In  the  case  of  the  dramatist,  how- 
ever, he  is  not  writing  for  the  reader,  but  pri- 
marily for  the  audience  in  the  play-house.  In 
this  case,  he  cannot  narrate  the  action  but  must 
reveal  and  show  it  largely  through  concrete  ob- 
jective movement  and  pantomime.     The  actions 


The  Plot  of  the  One- Act  Play     105 

must  be  seen  by  the  audience  and  not  merely 
told  to  them.  In  the  chapter  on  The  Drama- 
tist and  His  Audience,  it  was  asserted  that  an 
audience  gets  the  dramatic  action  of  a  plot 
largely  through  seeing  the  pantomime  of  the 
play  and  that  it  really  gives  but  casual  atten- 
tion to  what  is  said  by  the  characters.  In  the 
play-house  seeing  is  believing.  Accordingly, 
the  vital  characteristic  of  the  action  of  a  plot  is 
the  concrete,  objective  pantomime.  There  are 
many  cases  on  record  in  which  a  person,  unable 
to  hear  a  word  of  the  dialogue  or  wholly  un- 
able to  understand  the  language  in  which  the 
play  was  written,  got  the  full  effect  of  the 
large  emotional  values  of  the  play  and  readily 
followed  the  plot  through  to  the  end,  by  observ- 
ing the  plot-pantomime  and  accompanying 
stage-business.  Without  speaking  a  word  of 
dialogue  throughout  the  entire  performance. 
Mile.  Dazie  played  Sir  James  M.  Barrie's 
"Pantaloon"  to  capacity  vaudeville  audiences 
who  readily  got  the  plot  from  the  pantomimic 
action.  Indeed,  a  good  dramatic  plot  is  essen- 
tially a  pantomime  story. 

Moreover,  a  good  One-act  play  is  generally 
characterized  by  psychological  and  emotional 
functionings  of  one  kind  or  another;  and  these 
are  most  effective  when  they  are  manifest  in 
concrete  and  objective  pantomime.  As  a  mat- 
ter of  fact,  from  a  psychological  point  of  view, 


106  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

this  is  the  only  way  by  which  they  can  be  ex- 
pressed. The  dramatist,  in  evolving  and  con- 
structing his  plot,  should  so  get  hold  of  the 
essential  emotional  values  in  his  story  that  he 
can  best  reveal  them  through  significant  panto- 
mimic action.  It  is  what  the  audience  sees,  not 
what  it  hears,  that  will  impress  them.  Such 
One-act  plays  as  Lewis  Beach's  "The  Clod," 
Richard  Harding  Davis's  "Blackmail,"  Anton 
Tchekov's  "A  Marriage  Proposal,"  and  August 
Strindberg's  "The  Outlaw,"  may  readily  be 
interpreted  through  the  inherent  pantomimic 
action  of  their  plots. 

A  second  characteristic  of  the  plot  of  a  One- 
act  play  is  that  it  must  be  fundamentally  dra- 
matic :  the  underlying  situation  must  be  a  sig- 
nificant and  vital  one;  it  must  provoke  one's 
interest  through  a  series  of  minor  situations 
which  culminate  in  a  final  crucial  moment ;  and 
it  must  provoke  emotional  response  of  such 
force  as  to  make  the  spectator  feel  that  he  has 
experienced  or  observed  some  aspect  of  life. 
A  plot  that  is  not  dynamic  and  moving  is 
scarcely  suitable  for  a  One-act  play.  Unless 
the  personalities  and  incidents  are  vital  and 
unless  they  are  significant  as  a  revelation  of 
some  aspect  of  human  life,  there  is  no  drama. 
They  cannot  be  trite  commonplaces  or  super- 
ficialities. The  initial  incident,  or  initial  force 
of  whatever  nature,  which  sets  the  inter-reaction 


The  Plot  of  the  One- Act  Play    107 

into  motion  may  be  trivial,  but  the  resultant 
must  make  or  mar  the  character — must  have 
some  definite  effect.  The  result  of  the  struggle 
or  inter-play  of  character  and  incident  must  be 
of  more  than  usual  concern  to  the  personalities. 
The  incidents  and  situations  of  George 
Middleton's  "Criminals"  are  vital  to  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Alfred  York  and  their  daughter,  Janet, 
and  likewise  to  Carter  M^rzmn  who,  but  an  hour 
before,  had  become  her  husband.  The  incidents 
and  situations  of  Alfred  Sutro's  "The  Brace- 
let," as  experienced  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Harvey 
Western,  are  a  distinctive  lesson  to  the  two, 
and  to  the  husband  in  particular.  The  experi- 
ence of  the  Wise  Man  in  William  Butler  Yeats's 
"The  Hour-Glass,"  brings  him  face  to  face  with 
life  and  with  death,  and  presents  to  him  a  con- 
ception of  faith  the  like  of  which  he  never  had 
known  before ;  and  in  "The  Well  of  the  Saints,  "^ 
Martin  Doul  and  his  wife  Mary  learn  that 
happiness  and  bliss  under  a  condition  of  total 
blindness  is  preferable  to  the  contention  and 
bitter  disappointment  they  experienced  in  the 
few  moments  during  which  their  sight  was  re- 
stored. In  Lord  Dunsany's  "The  Lost  Silk 
Hat,"  the  Caller  finally  succumbs  to  the  lure 
of  romance.  In  Zona  Gale's  "Neighbors,"  the 
incidents  which  come  to  the  experience  of  the 
characters  arouse  a  sympathy  and  latent  devo- 
>  A  three-act  play. 


108  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

tion  that  otherwise  might  have  continued  to  lie 
dormant.  In  August  Strindberg's  "Countess 
JuHe,"  the  exjieriences  of  Julie  teach  her  that 
she  cannot  play  with  fire  and  not  get  burned. 
Her  whole  nature  is  outraged  and  brought  to 
a  tragic  and  bitter  end  because  of  her  experi- 
ence with  the  seducing  Jean.  The  author  of  a 
One-act  play  will  do  well  to  see  to  it  that  the 
material  of  his  plot  has  to  do  with  vital  events ; 
and  this  holds  true  whether  he  write  comedy 
or   tragedy. 

The  plot  which  does  not  arouse  interest  in  the 
audience  will  be  of  little  value  for  any  kind  of 
fiction  narrative,  and  least  of  all  of  value  for 
a  One-act  play.  The  basis  of  interest  is  a 
constantly  progressive  series  of  stimuli  of  so 
taking  a  nature  as  to  seize  and  hold  all  the 
powers  of  perception  and  thought.  Probably 
the  strongest  source  of  stimuli  in  a  play  is 
situation.  Psychology  emphasizes  the  fact 
that  the  human  mind  is  not  inclined  to  create 
a  situation,  but  is  wont  to  attempt  to  solve  it 
the  moment  it  is  presented.  Accordingly,  one 
way,  by  which  a  practical  playwright  can 
arouse  and  seize  interest,  is  by  presenting  to 
the  assembled  group  a  series  of  concrete  situ- 
ations in  such  way  as  to  invite  solution  thereof. 
If  the  dramatist  will  but  present  a  series  of 
vital  situations,  he  will  not  need  to  do  much 
else;  the  mind  will  naturally  rise  to  the  occa- 


The  Plot  of  the  One-Act  Play     109 

sion.  For,  as  Melville  Davisson  Post  has  said, 
"The  demand  of  the  human  mind  for  mystery  or 
problem — something  to  unravel- -is  universal. 
It  is  the  desire  of  everybody  to  know  how  per- 
sons will  act  in  tragic  situations ;  how  men  of 
individuality  and  power  in  high  places  will  con- 
duct themselves  under  certain  conditions  of 
stress.  We  shall  never  cease  to  be  interested 
in  these  things,  and  the  author  who  presents 
them  will  have  our  attention."  ^ 

According  to  psychology,  anything  that  Is 
obvious  will  not  readily  seize  the  powers  of 
interest.  If  a  scene,  an  injected  bit  of  motiva- 
tion, a  relation,  a  situation,  or  a  bit  of  action 
is  too  evident  or  too  obvious,  there  Is  nothing 
for  the  mind  to  solve,  nothing  to  interest  it.  If 
the  characters  are  of  too  commonplace  a  type, 
if  the  series  of  situations  is  not  vital  and  of 
significance  to  the  characters,  and  if  the  crucial 
moment  does  not  provoke  some  strong  emo- 
tional reaction — there  Is  no  stimulus  to  provoke 
the  mind  to  be  concerned.  Anything  that  is 
commonplace  and  wholly  familiar,  and  any  situ- 
ation out  of  which  the  natural  course  of  events 
and  habitual  human  actions  will  lead  a  char- 
acter, calls  for  no  solution  for  there  Is  no 
problem  to  grapple  with.  Interest  is  provoked 
by  any  situation  from  which  one's  human  in- 
stincts and  liabits  of  life  do  not  automatically 

*  Saturday   Evening   Post    for   December   26,   1914. 


110  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

deliver  one.  Such  a  situation  calls  for  some 
solution  and  the  human  mind,  having  clearly 
conceived  the  situation,  if  it  is  at  all  of  conse- 
quence to  a  human  character,  attempts  a  solu- 
tion,— in  a  word,  interest  is  provoked.  Obvi- 
ously, the  injunction  to  the  playwright  should 
be, — Look  well  to  your  series  of  situations,  if 
you  would  arouse  and  hold  the  interest  of  your 
audience ! 

The  whole  experience  of  human  life  is  a 
struggle  with  environment,  an  effort  to  over- 
come obstacles  of  one  kind  or  another;  life  is  a 
continuous  endeavor  to  surmount.  Life,  then, 
is  a  continuous  attempt  at  solving  problems, 
difficulties,  and  situations.  To  interest  the 
audience,  the  dramatist  must  present  for  its 
solution  the  very  vital  problems  with  which  it 
has  had  association  and  acquaintance.  A  prob- 
lem or  a  situation  that,  in  the  experience  of 
human  life,  has  had  no  solution  and  cannot  have 
any,  is,  therefore,  uninteresting;  and  a  situa- 
tion whose  solution  would  be  of  no  vital  con- 
cern or  whose  solution  is  wholly  obvious,  again 
is  of  little  interest.  The  larger  vital  situations 
of  life,  whose  way  of  solution  is  not  always 
certain  because  of  ever  varying  attendant  cir- 
cumstances in  any  given  case,  but  whose  solu- 
tion, in  one  way  or  another,  is  highly  probable, 
are  the  ones  which  invariably  seize  the  interest 
of  an  audience. 


The  Plot  of  the  One- Act  Play     111 

In  the  third  place,  if  a  plot  is  to  be  dramatic 
— and  the  plot  of  a  play  cannot  be  otherwise — 
it  must  provoke  the  observer  to  emotional  re- 
sponse. Usually,  a  person  responds  to  those 
things  with  which  he  has  sympathetic  acquaint- 
ance and  understanding.  A  person  who  has  a 
good  sense  of  humor  best  appreciates  a  good 
joke;  a  pious  man  usually  feels  most  keenly 
about  sacrilege  and  piety ;  a  refined  and  literate 
woman  has  a  fine  sense  of  decorum ;  a  self-made 
man  most  often  appreciate?  the  struggles  of  a 
hard-working  and  ambitious  youth.  Men  and 
women  who  have  experienced  the  ills  of  fortune 
are  most  sympathetic  with  the  unfortunate; 
and  the  old  soldier  is  aroused  to  a  pitch  of 
patriotic  enthusiasm  at  the  sound  of  the  fife 
and  drum,  the  like  of  which  cannot  be  under- 
stood by  the  casual  observer.  It  is  to  those 
things  which  are  strongest  in  human  likes  and 
dislikes  that  an  audience  responds  most  readily 
and  most  intently.  The  dramatist  will  do  much 
to  make  his  product  dramatic  if  he  will  put 
into  his  plot  those  things  about  which  men  and 
women  feel  most  keenly. 

Moreover,  to  arouse  the  audience  to  emo- 
tional functioning — tears,  laughter,  sympathy, 
repugnance,  anger,  revenge,  love,  hate,  patriot- 
ism, sacrifice,  fidelity — is  not  only  the  purpose 
of  a  play,  but  is  also  the  prerogative  and  the 
opportunity  of  the  playwright.      Such  plays  as 


112  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

Sir  James  M.  Barrie's  "Der  Tag,"  Fenn  and 
Price's  " 'Op-o'-Me-Thumb,"  Mary  Aldis's 
"Extreme  Unction"  stir  the  emotions  to  the 
depths;  Anton  Tchekov's  "The  Boor,"  Alice 
Gerstenberg's  "Overtones,"  Edward  Goodman's 
"Eugenically  Speaking,"  Percival  Wilde's  "The 
Noble  Lord"  are  thoroughly  laughter  provok- 
ing. The  basic  thing  in  human  life  is  emotion, 
not  thought.  The  One-act  play  must  stir, 
arouse,  and  move  the  emotions,  if  it  is  to  be  of 
any  practical  value.  The  dramatist  must  move 
his  audience  so  that  they  will  feel  that  they  have 
experienced  one  of  the  motive  forces  of  life: 
they  may  weep  at  a  really  pathetic  scene ;  they 
may  shout  approval  at  the  overthrow  of  one 
who  has  not  played  the  game  of  life  fairly ; 
they  may  laugh  uproariously  at  a  fat  man's 
encounter  with  a  mere  wisp  of  a  washer-woman; 
they  may  well  with  warmth  and  fervor  at  a 
patriotic  and  heroic  achievement;  or  they  may 
want  to  inflict  severe  punishment  upon  the  one 
who,  in  the  midst  of  the  excitement  of  a  national 
crisis,  dares  utter  what  they  consider  unpatri- 
otic sentiments.  Moving,  the  plot  must  be — 
else  it  is  naught. 

Structural,  Aspects  of  a  Plot 

The    important    structural    problem    before 
the  playwright  in  building  his  plot  for  his  One- 


The  Plot  of  the  One- Act  Play     113 

act  play  is,  that  all  his  materials  and  methods 
shall  lend  themselves  to  the  securing  of  a  single- 
ness and  unity  of  effect.  This  singleness  of 
effect  is  most  strongly  emphasized  and  most 
highly  effective  in  the  crucial  situation.  For 
that  reason,  the  dramatist  must  work  with  an 
eye  single  to  the  crucial  moment.  And  he 
must  reach  this  all-important  situation  by  con- 
structing a  series  of  minor  situations  which 
progressively  lead  up  to  the  ultimate  end. 

The  prime  concern  in  unity  in  plot  building 
is  that  there  shall  be  a  structural  unity.  There 
is  the  unity  of  a  plum-pudding,  of  a  string  of 
beads,  and  of  a  Greek  temple !  The  first  is  but 
a  lump  unity — a  conglomeration;  the  second 
is  orderly,  but  only  so  by  placement ;  and  the 
last  is  structural,  rationalized,  organic.  A 
group  of  incidents  thrown  together  into  a  con- 
glomerate mass,  irrespective  of  causal  relation 
among  them,  is  but  a  hodge-podge  and  is  wholly 
removed  from  consideration  for  a  plot  of  a 
One-act  play  because  it  does  not  lend  itself  to 
a  structural  unity  of  effect.  Moreover,  a 
mere  succession  of  incidents,  or  even  of  situa- 
tions, however  spirited  and  interesting,  can  no 
more  make  a  dramatic  plot  than  a  mere  suc- 
cession of  standing  soldiers  can  make  an  army ; 
both  lack  organization  for  a  definite  purpose. 
Again,  mere  coherence  between  a  succession  of 
incidents  does  not  make  u  plot;  for,  as  Aristotle 


114  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

has  asserted,  "there  is  a  wide  difference  between 
incidents  that  follow  from  and  incidents  that 
follow  only  after  each  other."  Mere  coherence 
does  not  elevate  the  succession  of  incidents  to 
the  texture  of  drama.  Nor  does  mere  com- 
plexity make  a  plot,  else  any  puzzle,  conundrum, 
or  scientific  problem  would  be  material  for  plot. 
Complexity  may  be  little  more  than  mechanical 
intricacy.  It  goes  without  saying  that  every 
good  plot  has  an  element  of  simplified  com- 
plexity in  it ;  but  it  is  due  to  causal  relations 
and  organic  interplay  among  incident  and 
character  rather  than  to  any  mechanical  ar- 
rangement. 

The  structural  problem  for  the  dramatist 
in  constructing  his  plot — and  he  really  does 
construct  it  in  the  proper  acceptation  of  the 
term — is  that  of  incremental  progression.  A 
plot  not  only  proceeds  but  also  advances  from 
causes  to  effects.  There  is  not  only  a  chrono- 
logical relation  between  the  situations  of  the 
plot  but  there  is  also  a  logical  one.  The  play- 
wright must  so  handle  his  material  that  there 
is  a  series  of  situations  which  progressively 
accumulate  to  a  given  end.  In  this  cumula- 
tive progression  there  is  also  something  of  a 
process  of  exuviation.  One  situation  grows  out 
of  a  previous  one  only  to  become  the  basis  for 
the  one  which  follows.  Each  situation  is  caus- 
ally and  logically  related  and  linked  to  the  one 


The  Plot  of  the  One- Act  Play    115 

which  precedes  and  to  the  one  which  follows, 
and  likewise  is  a  constructive  element  in  the 
whole  series  of  situations  which  produce  the 
total  effect.  And  this  is  the  organic  and 
structural  unity  of  the  Greek  temple,  which 
the  playwright  must  have  in  his  plot.  The 
structural  problem  in  plot-building  is  that  of 
incremental  progression  leading  to  a  crucial 
moment,  the  whole  giving  an  artistic  unity  of 
effect.  It  is  a  problem  of  structural  integra- 
tion. 

In  the  use  of  materials  and  situations  the 
playwright  is  beset  by  two  dangers :  he  may 
violate  the  element  of  unity  either  by  putting 
too  much  into  his  plot  or  by  putting  in  too 
little.  If  there  is  too  much  material,  too  many 
incidents  and  characters,  too  many  effects,  a 
profusion  of  dialogue  and  stage  business,  or 
too  many  real  situations,  the  mind  of  the  audi- 
ence becomes  cloyed  and  surfeited ;  there  is 
confusion,  there  is  no  unity  of  effect  and  con- 
sequently no  adequate  emotional  response  to 
the  stimuli.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  the  play- 
wright puts  too  little  material  into  the  plot, 
and  especially  if  there  are  too  few  situations 
whereby  the  assembled  group  is  gradually  led 
up  to  the  crucial  moment,  there  is  surprise,  a 
shock  to  the  senses ;  the  whole  seems  mechanical 
and  is  therefore  uninteresting  and,  above  all, 
unconvincing.      On  the  other  hand,  the  human 


116  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

mind  needs  to  have  a  stimulus  repeated  a  num- 
ber of  times  before  it  fully  responds  to  it,  and 
the  stimuli  must  be  increasingly  and  gradually 
stronger;  accordingly  there  must  be  a  sufficient 
number  of  situations  dealing  with  the  theme  of 
the  play  or  there  will  not  be  sufficient  stimuli 
to  provoke  the  desired  emotional  response  at 
the  crucial  moment.  That  plot  is  perfect,  so 
far  as  material  is  concerned,  from  which  one  is 
not  impelled  to  remove  anything  and  to  which 
he  is  not  desirous  of  making  additions.  It  has 
a  constructive  and  organic  proportion. 

In  constructing  the  plot  of  a  One-act  play, 
it  is  highly  imperative  that  the  dramatist  have 
the  material  thereof  thoroughly  in  hand.  He 
must  get  his  emotional  effects  with  the  greatest 
possible  economy  of  time  and  attention.  To 
that  end,  he  should  subject  his  plot  materials 
to  such  constructive  questions  as  these:  (1) 
What  significant  human  truth  or  precept  do  I 
wish  to  emphasize  and  exemplify  in  a  concrete 
illustration  of  life?  (2)  What  emotional 
functioning  do  I  wish  to  provoke  in  my  audi- 
ence,— particularly  at  the  crucial  moment?  Is 
it  a  vital,  fundamental,  and  dramatically  mov- 
ing emotion?  Is  it  humorous  or  tragic?  (3) 
What  is  the  important  crucial  moment  or  situa- 
tion in  which  this  human  truth  and  this  emo- 
tional element  are  made  most  effective  and 
clear?      (4)   What    are    the    distinctive    traits 


The  Plot  of  the  One- Act  Play    117 

of  personality  in  each  of  the  dominant  char- 
acters? Are  they  fundamentally  dramatic 
traits?  (5)  What  are  the  circumstances  under 
which  the  personalities  of  the  characters  are 
brought  together?  Are  the  characters  and 
circumstances  inherently  of  such  nature  that, 
when  brought  together,  they  will  re-act  and 
inter-react  one  upon  another?  (6)  What  are 
the  individual  situations  in  which  this  reaction 
is  most  striking?  Is  each  situation  dramatic? 
Can  they  be  arranged  in  a  progressive  series? 
(7)  What  is  the  reaction  in  character  and 
adjustment  in  situation  that  immediately  follow 
the  crucial  moment?  In  answering  these  ques- 
tions, the  author  should  not  deceive  himself  as 
to  the  completeness  of  the  answers ;  he  should 
permit  nothing  short  of  absolute  definiteness 
and  clarity  to  stand.  Indeed  the  success  of 
the  plot  will  depend  very  largely  upon  the  re- 
sults the  author  gets  in  subjecting  his  material 
to  the  rigid  test  of  the  foregoing  questions. 

A  good  dramatic  plot  is  craftily  premedi- 
tated. The  playwright  must  know  whether  he 
is  to  get  a  tragic  or  a  comic  effect ;  whether  he 
is  to  amuse  by  farce,  burlesque,  travesty,  or  to 
arouse  by  frank  melodrama.  Moreover,  if  he 
is  an  observing  and  practical  dramatist,  he  will 
not  write  dow7i  to  his  public,  nor  will  he  soar 
into  realms  far  above  them.  The  efficient 
dramatist  writes  directly   to  his   audience;  he 


118  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

ever  keeps  it  before  him.  He  knows  exactly 
what  effect  and  emotional  value  he  is  to  carry 
across  the  footlights  to  the  assembled  group 
and  then  builds  his  play  by  going  back  to  the 
initial  steps  of  his  plot  and  constructing  the 
series  of  dramatic  situations  that  will  incre- 
mentally progress  to  that  end.  Construct  the 
plot  backward  with  the  outcome  ever  m  view, 
is  a  valuable  precept  to  the  beginner  in  plot- 
building.  The  playwright  will  do  well  to  keep 
in  mind  that  it  is  far  easier  to  work  from 
effects  back  to  causes  than  from  causes  forward 
to  effects.  The  first  process,  too,  is  far  more 
conducive  to  unified  plotting  because  the  end 
in  view  is  always  a  guiding  and  unifying  motive. 
In  any  case,  the  practical  playwright  clearly 
conceives  the  structure  of  his  plot  before  he 
begins  to  write  his  play. 

Sources  and  Mateeials  of  a  Plot 

The  writer  of  the  One-act  play  should  keep 
in  mind  that  his  finished  product,  when  well 
done,  is  a  work  of  art, — he  has  secured  an 
effect  through  constructive  means  to  an  end. 
From  this,  it  may  be  pointed  out  that  he  should 
not  expect  to  find  his  plot  ready  made  in  active 
every-day  life.  Indeed  the  material  for  a  plot 
is  often  to  be  found  in  life,  but  the  plot  itself  is 
built   and  constructed.     The   first   concern   of 


The  Plot  of  the  One- Act  Play     119 

the  dramatist  should  not  be  character,  setting, 
dialogue,  or  stage  business,  but  it  should  be  the 
construction  of  his  plot.  For  the  beginner, 
this  seems  to  be  a  most  difficult  restraint ;  if 
he  could  have  his  way,  he  would  dash  off  his 
ideas  and  emotions  at  white  heat.  In  such  a 
case,  he  would,  in  all  probability,  over-empha- 
size some  one  thing  or  else  fluctuate  from  one 
thing  to  another, — at  one  time  plot,  then  dia- 
logue, then  character,  and  then  something  else. 
Unless  his  plot  is  clearly  and  vividly  before  him, 
he  would  better  postpone  any  diversified  spon- 
taneous outburst  until  that  matter  has  been 
taken  care  of.  Whatever  else  his  result  might 
be,  the  chances  are  that  if  he  does  not  construct 
his  plot  before  he  begins  to  write,  it  will  not  be 
a  One-act  play  that  is  a  finished  work  of  art. 
There  is  very  little  plot  in  real  life.  A  plot 
whose  greatest  recommendation  is  that  it  is  an 
actual  happening  and  is,  therefore,  a  "true 
story,"  is  usually  in  greatest  danger  of  being 
a  flabby  invertebrate.  Such  a  story  seldom 
succeeds,  because  real  life  seldom  falls  into  a 
well-ordered  series  of  situations  leading  to  a 
crucial  moment.  A  good  play  is  not  photo- 
graphic, is  not  necessarily  true  to  the  facts  of  a 
given  bit  of  actual  living;  but  a  good  play  is 
always  true  to  life  in  the  by  and  large.  The 
practical  playwright  constructs  this  picture  of 
life  out  of  the  materials  of  active  life;  seldom, 


120  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

however,  is  it  an  exact  reproduction  of  the  de- 
tails of  a  bit  of  hving.  If  any  incident  of  a 
plot  may  be  omitted  without  breaking  the  vital 
sequence  of  cause  and  effect,  then  that  incident 
must  be  eliminated.  If  it  is  necessary  to  invent 
an  incident  in  order  to  complete  or  to  empha- 
size more  effectively  a  series  developing  a  dra- 
matic theme,  then  it  must  be  forthcoming. 
Here,  too,  is  the  fundamental  difference  be- 
tween art  and  life.  In  life  one  is  plunged  into 
a  complete  welter  of  experiences,  most  of  which 
have  little  or  no  causal  relation  to  each  other. 
Surprise,  accident,  things  unpredictable,  come 
into  life.  In  art,  on  the  other  hand,  there  are 
no  mere  happenings  unprepared  for;  every 
situation  is  anticipated  by  its  vital  cause  and 
may  be  observed  if  one  will  but  see.  It  is  of 
no  consequence  whether  certain  incidents  did 
or  did  not  happen  to  a  real  being  in  active 
life ;  the  dramatist  must  so  handle  them  that  in 
all  probability  they  did  happen.  Art  is  con- 
structive to  a  given  end ;  life  is  not.  Life,  as 
revealed  in  a  One-act  play,  is  made  rational 
and  logical;  in  short,  it  is  art. 

In  the  matter  of  plot-building  the  construc- 
tive value  of  the  testimony  of  two  masters, 
Stevenson  and  Poe,  in  the  field  of  fiction  writing 
cannot  be  gainsaid.  Stevenson  in  "A  Humble 
Remonstrance"  writes,  "Let  him  choose  a 
motive,  whether  of  character  or  passion ;  care- 


The  Plot  of  the  One- Act  Play     121 

fully  construct  his  plot  so  that  every  incident 
is  an  illustration  of  the  motive,  and  every 
property  employed  shall  bear  to  it  a  relation  of 
congruity  or  contrast,  .  .  .  and  allow  neither 
himself  in  the  narrative,  nor  any  character  in 
the  course  of  the  dialogue,  to  utter  one  sentence 
that  is  not  part  and  parcel  of  the  business  of 
the  stor}'  or  the  discussion  of  the  problem  in- 
volved." "If  wise,"  says  Poe,  "he  has  not 
fashioned  his  thoughts  to  accommodate  his  inci- 
dents ;  but  having  conceived,  with  deliberate 
care,  a  certain  unique  or  single  effect  to  be 
wrought  out,  he  then  invents  such  incidents — 
he  then  combines  such  events  as  may  best  aid 
him  in  establishing  the  pre-conceived  effect.  If 
his  very  initial  sentence  tend  not  to  the  out- 
bringing  of  this  effect,  then  he  has  failed  in  his 
first  step.  In  the  whole  composition  there 
should  be  no  word  written,  of  which  the  tend- 
ency, direct  or  indirect,  is  not  to  the  one  pre- 
established  design."  When  past-masters  such 
as  these  two  men  speak  after  this  fashion,  the 
beginner  in  playwriting  will  do  well  to  con- 
ceive clearly  that  the  real  problem  in  plot- 
building  is  not  one  of  making  a  detailed  transfer 
of  the  literal  facts  of  life  to  the  stage,  but  one 
of  organic  construction. 


122  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

Organic  Divisions  of  a  Plot 

In  conclusion,  then,  the  general  constructive 
plan  of  plot-building  is  that  it  shall  have  a  defi- 
nitely planned  series  of  situations  which  will 
take  the  audience  step  by  step,  and  with  in- 
creasing interest,  to  the  highest  point  in  the 
dramatic  action.  "Every  drama,"  says  Adol- 
phus  W.  Ward,  "should  represent  in  organic 
sequence  the  several  stages  of  which  a  complete 
action  consists,  and  which  are  essential  to  it. 
Every  action  conceived  of  as  complete,  has  its 
causes,  growth,  height,  consequence  and  close." 
Expressed  from  a  little  different  point  of  view, 
there  is  a  complication,  a  major  knot,  and  an 
explanation ;  or  stated  in  still  another  way,  it 
may  be  said  that  a  plot  is  a  complication  fol- 
lowed by  an  explanation,  a  tying  followed  by 
an  untying,  a  nouement  followed  by  a  denoue- 
ment. 

A  reputable  critic  of  fiction  holds  that  a  plot 
consists  of  three  movements:  First,  (1)  setting, 
(2)  characters,  (3)  generating  circumstances ; 
Second,  (1)  complication,  (2)  reaction  of  char- 
acters to  it;  Third,  (1)  crucial  situation,  and 
(2)  denouement.  Another  writer  asserts  that 
a  plot  consists  of  "First,  the  complicating  in- 
fluence and  the  response  of  some  of  the  persons 
thereto  (initial  response) ;  second,  period  of 
resistant  delay,  in  which  the  episodes  or  stages 


The  Plot  of  the  One- Act  Play     123 

of  the  conflict  march  along  each  duly  following 
those  that  belong  before  it  in  point  of  time; 
third,  the  act,  or  incident,  or  other  decisive 
fact  that  pre-determines  the  final  outcome ;  and 
fourth,  the  outcome  itself,  either  alone  or 
telescoping  with  and  practically  one  with 
number  three." 

For  analytical  work  the  foregoing  schemes 
are  highly  valuable  and  are  not  to  be  taken 
lightly ;  on  the  other  hand  in  constructive  work 
in  plotting,  especially  for  the  beginner,  there  is 
danger  of  too  complex  a  method.  The  construc- 
tive method  of  plot-building  may  grow  more  and 
more  complex  as  the  skill  of  the  playwright 
develops ;  at  the  outset,  however,  a  more  simpli- 
fied and  yet  effective  plan  is  to  be  preferred. 
Whatever  else  may  be  said  about  the  general 
structural  aspects  of  a  plot,  this  is  obvious  to 
every  one :  a  plot  begins  at  some  point,  ends 
at  some  point,  and  there  is  something  in  be- 
tween. Indeed,  laboratory  experience  in  teach- 
ing One-act  playwriting  in  the  University 
class  room  has  led  to  the  conclusion  that,  for 
practical  constructive  work,  it  is  best  to  con- 
sider a  plot  as  having  a  Beginning,  a  Middle, 
and  an  End,  The  Beginning  contains  the  pre- 
liminaries out  of  which  the  subsequent  dramatic 
action  grows ;  the  Middle  contains  the  progres- 
sive series   of  situations,  including  the  crucial 


124  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

moment,  which  exemplify  the  dramatic  move- 
ment, and  the  End  includes  the  re-actions  of 
character  and  the  re-adjustment  of  relations 
immediately  following  the  crucial  moment. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE    BEGINNING  OF   THE   ONE-ACT  PLAT 

The  Structural  Aspects  of  the  Beginning 

Just  as  the  theme  and  the  plot  of  a  good 
One-act  play  are  so  skilfully  interwoven  as  to 
give  something  of  a  sense  of  oneness,  so  the 
simple  organic  structural  divisions  of  a  plot — 
Beginning,  Middle,  and  End — must  be  so  deftly 
interrelated  that  there  will  not  be  even  the  least 
obvious  breaking  up  of  the  structure  into  these 
elements.  There  must  be  a  smooth  and  logical 
development  from  the  Beginning  through  the 
Middle  to  the  End ;  there  must  be  no  sense  of 
division  between  any  two  of  these  parts  in  the 
finished  product.  If  there  is,  then  the  play  is 
not  art,  it  is  only  mechanics. 

From  the  point  of  view  of  art,  the  Beginning 
of  a  One-act  play  is  a  thoroughly  integral  and 
organic  part  of  the  whole  plot.  It  does  not 
exist  for  itself  alone;  it  must  never  end  in  a 
blank  wall.  Structurally  and  artistically  it  is 
inseparable  from  the  rest  of  the  play:  it  is  a 
homogeneous  structural  part  of  the  complete 
plot.  On  the  other  hand,  experience  in  prac- 
tical play-writing  has  shown  that  the  dramatist 

125 


126  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

must  conceive  the  Beginning  as  a  problem 
almost  wholly  in  and  of  itself;  it  has  a  distinc- 
tive dramatic  function  to  perform  and  has 
certain  structural  characteristics  peculiarly  its 
own.  This  function  and  these  characteristics 
the  playwright  must  conceive  clearly ;  and  he 
must  deal  with  the  problem  in  structure  as  a 
specific  consideration.  The  practical  crafts- 
man never  loses  sight  of  the  mechanics  of  his 
art. 

Dumas  fits  had  in  mind  practical  structural 
plot-building  when  he  wrote,  "You  should  not 
begin  your  work  until  you  have  your  concluding 
scene,  movement  and  speech  clear  in  your  mind. 
How  can  you  tell  what  road  you  ought  to  take 
until  you  know  where  you  are  going.?"  If  the 
Beginning  is  dull,  weak,  awkward,  and  above 
all  listless  and  uninteresting,  one  may  rest  as- 
sured that  the  dramatist  has  either  a  very  vague 
conception  of  its  function  or  does  not  under- 
stand the  organic  relation  between  the  Begin- 
ning and  the  plot  as  a  whole.  If  a  playwright 
finds  that  he  cannot  make  his  opening  clear  and 
comprehensible  without  long,  prolix  explana- 
tion of  an  intricate  network  of  facts  and 
forces,  he  may  be  pretty  sure  that  he  has  hold 
of  a  bad  story,  one  that  stands  in  sore  need 
of  simplification  or  one  that  is  not  dramatic 
enough  to  warrant  being  put  into  a  One-act 
play.     Organically,  the  Beginning  is  that  por- 


Beginning  of  the  One- Act  Play     127 

tion  of  the  plot-facts  which  make  plain  to  the 
audience  enough  of  the  character-traits  and 
circumstances  involved  to  enable  them  to  under- 
stand the  whole  plot-action. 

It  cannot  be  too  strongly  emphasized  that 
while  the  Beginning  is  something  of  a  dramatic 
problem  in  itself,  it  must  ever  be  conceived  in 
relation  to  the  entire  plot.  The  essence  of  plot 
and  tlie  very  reason  for  its  being,  in  a  One-act 
play,  is  the  crucial  moment — the  outcome. 
Robert  Wilson  Neal,  although  writing  about 
the  structure  of  the  short-story  rather  than 
about  a  One-act  play,  said,  "Every  play  has 
its  outcome.  This  implies  that  there  has,  in 
the  course  of  the  action,  been  either  a  change 
or  an  imminent  likelihood  of  change,  from  one 
state  of  things  to  another;  the  change  took 
place,  or  else  it  was  averted.  This  in  turn 
implies  that,  to  understand  this  change  and  the 
manner  in  which  it  came  about  or  was  averted, 
we  must  know  what  the  state  of  things  was  at 
the  time  when  the  action  began.  The  purpose 
of  the  exposition  in  plot  is  to  make  known  this 
state  of  affairs  from  which  there  is  to  be  a 
change,  or  in  whicli  (after  a  period  of  struggle 
or  critical  uncertainty)  change  is  to  be  averted. 
That  is,  the  function  of  the  exposition  is  to 
make  the  story  clear  by  putting  before  us  the 
facts  that  belong  to  the  beginning  of  the  plot." 
Perceive  the  End  in  the  Beginning  and  never 


128  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

lose  sight  of  it,  is  a  constructive  precept  for 
the  beginner  in  dramatic  composition. 

At  the  very  same  time  that  the  playwright  is 
informing  the  audience  of  the  initial  situation 
he  must  also  be  revealing  what  has  preceded  and 
likewise  indicate  what  is  probably  to  follow. 
The  Beginning  does  not  exist  altogether  for  its 
own  sake ;  its  individual  value  very  largely 
ceases  as  soon  as  it  leads  the  assembled  group 
to  a  point  where,  of  its  own  accord,  it  desires 
to  follow  further  the  dramatic  development. 
If  the  very  initial  situation  does  not  tend  to 
the  out-bringing  of  the  final  crucial  effect  then 
it  is  on  the  wrong  track  and  has  failed  of  its 
dramatic  function  and  obligation.  The  play- 
wright must  ever  keep  clearly  before  him  that 
the  Beginning  is  an  organic  and  structural 
part  of  the  complete  preestablished  design. 

Function  and  Characteristics  of  a  Dramatic 

Beginning 

The  importance  of  the  Beginning  cannot  be 
gainsaid.  The  one-hundred  yard  dash  in  an 
athletic  contest  is  often  won  by  the  sprinter 
who  "gets  off"  most  effectively  at  the  start; 
many  a  book  remains  unread  because  the  first 
dozen  pages  do  not  arouse  interest  or  because 
there  is  a  dissatisfying  vagueness ;  and  the 
practised  public  speaker  knows  from  personal 


Beginning  of  the  One- Act  Play     129 

experience  that,  if  he  is  to  hold  the  attention 
and  interest  of  his  audience,  he  must  make  the 
most  of  the  first  few  minutes  of  his  address. 
An  ex-United  States  senator,  in  an  exemplary 
discourse  before  a  University  convocation,  once 
asserted  that  there  were  three  essentials  of  a 
good  speech :  First,  that  it  should  begin  at  an 
interesting  and  significant  point ;  Second,  that 
it  should  stop  when  it  was  at  an  end ;  and  Third, 
that  it  should  have  something  worth  while  in 
between.  From  a  structural  point  of  view, 
nothing  could  be  more  applicable  to  the  One- 
act  play.  Of  these  elements  the  Beginning  is 
by  no  means  the  least  important;  and  in  no 
sense  is  it,  from  the  conventional  rhetorical 
point  of  view,  a  formal  introduction  to  a  bit  of 
prose  discourse. 

To  any  one  who  has  a  clear  conception  of 
the  organic  structure  of  a  One-act  play  the 
obvious  function  of  the  Beginning  is  to  make 
the  audience  cognizant  of  tlie  initial  situation 
out  of  whose  characters  and  attendant  circum- 
stances the  subsequent  complete  dramatic  ac- 
tion will  evolve.  It  nmst  make  clear  the  inher- 
ent personalities  of  the  characters  and  must 
likewise  present  the  accompanying  circum- 
stances so  vividly  that  the  audience,  grasping 
the  significance  of  the  situation,  will  feel  that 
something  of  vital  import  will,  in  all  probability, 
develop.     The  situation  thus  presents  a  prob- 


130  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

lem,  and  this  problem  according  to  current 
psychology  immediately  seizes  the  interest  of 
the  assembled  group. 

As  a  concrete  example  of  this  effect,  the 
Beginning  of  Sir  James  M.  Barrie's  moving  war 
play,  "Der  Tag,"  may  be  cited. 

A  bare  chamber  lighted  by  a  penny  dip 
which  casts  shadows.  On  a  hard  chair  by  a 
table  sits  An  Emperor  in  thought.  To  him 
come  his  Chancellor  and  an  Officer. 

Chancellor :     Your  Imperial  Majesty 

Officer:     Sire 

Emperor:  (The  Emperor  rises)  Is  that 
the  paper?  (Indicating  a  paper  in  the  Chan- 
cellor's hand.) 

Chancellor:  (Presenting  it)  It  awaits  only 
your  Imperial  Majesty's  signature. 

Officer:  When  you  have  signed  that  paper. 
Sire,  the  Fatherland  will  be  at  war  with  France 
and  Russia. 

Emperor:     At  last  this  little  paper 

Chancellor:  Not  the  value  of  a  bird's 
feather  until  it  has  your  royal  signature. 
The 

Emperor:  Then  it  will  sing  round  the 
planet.  The  vibrations  of  It  will  not  pass  in 
a  hundred  years.  .  .  .  My  friend,  how  still  the 
world  has  grown  since  I  raised  this  pen!  All 
Europe's  listening.  Europe!  That's  Ger- 
many, when  I  have  signed!     And  yet 


Beginning  of  the  One- Act  Play    131 

O-fficer:  Your  Imperial  Majesty  is  not 
afraid  to  sign? 

Emperor:     (flashing)     Afraid! 

In  this  Beginning  it  is  made  thoroughly  clear 
that  a  Chancellor  and  an  Officer  have  presented 
a  document — a  declaration  of  war — to  An 
Emperor  for  his  signature.  If  signed  it  will 
put  the  Fatherland  into  war  with  France  and 
Russia.  It  is,  likewise,  clearly  revealed  that 
the  Emperor  is  the  main  character,  and  that  he 
is  ambitious,  masterful,  far-seeing,  egotistic 
and  autocratic.     From  the  unfinished  sentence, 

"And  yet ,"  it  is  revealed  that  significant 

matters  of  far-reaching  consequence  are  consid- 
erations that  affect  his  signing.  This  is  a  situa- 
tion of  more  than  common  interest;  a  vital 
problem  is  up  for  solution.  Will  the  Emperor 
sign?  Or  will  he  not  sign?  In  either  case, 
what  will  be  the  result?  The  audience  is 
interested  and  looks  forward  to  a  solution. 
Here  is  a  tense  situation ;  a  serious  tone  and 
atmosphere  obtains  throughout  the  whole. 
The  dialogue  reveals  individual  personalities 
and  is  strongly  dramatic:  "All  Europe's  listen- 
ing. Europe !  Tliat's  Germany,  when  I  have 
signed!"  and  the  Emperor  (flashing)  "Afraid!" 
In  this  opening  scene  there  is  provided  a  strong 
sense  of  forceful  characterization,  of  incident 
and  situation,  of  dramatic  atmosphere  and  tone 


132  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

— and  the  whole  points  forward  to  action  of 
one  kind  or  another. 

Another  apt  illustration  is  from  Lord 
Dunsany's  delightful  little  comedy,  "The  Lost 
Silk  Hat." 

The  Caller  stands  on  a  doorstep ;  "fault- 
lessly dressed,"  but  without  a  hat.  At  first  he 
shows  despair,  then  a  new  thought  engrosses 
him. 

Enter  the  Laborer. 

Caller:  Excuse  me  a  moment.  Excuse 
me — but — I'd  be  greatly  obliged  to  you  if — if 
you  could  see  your  way — in  fact,  you  can  be 
of  great  service  to  me  if 

Laborer:     Glad  to  do  what  I  can.  Sir. 

Caller:  Well,  all  I  really  want  you  to  do 
is  just  ring  that  bell  and  go  up  and  say — er — 
say  that  you've  come  to  see  the  drains,  or  any- 
thing like  that,  you  know,  and  get  hold  of  my 
hat  for  me. 

Laborer:     Get  hold  of  your  'at! 

Caller:  Yes.  You  see,  I  left  my  hat  behind 
most  unfortunately.  It's  in  the  drawing-room 
(points  to  window),  that  room  there,  half  under 
the  long  sofa,  the  far  end  from  the  door,  and 
if  you  could  possibly  go  and  get  it,  why  I'd 
be — (The  Laborer's  expression  changes) — 
Why,  what's  the  matter? 

Laborer:      (firmly)      I  don't  like  this  job. 

Here,  again,  there  is  an  initial  dramatic  situ- 


Beginning  of  the  One- Act  Play     133 

ation — character  and  incident  inter-reacting 
upon  each  other:  A  "faultlessly  dressed"  man 
is  on  a  doorstep ;  but  he  has  no  hat.  He  cannot 
go  through  London  streets  without  it,  and  yet 
he  does  not  wish  to  go  back  up  to  a  certain 
room  and  get  it  from  under  the  far  end  of  the 
sofa.  A  Laborer  passes.  The  "faultlessly 
dressed"  man  very  politely  accosts  him  and 
urges  the  Laborer  to  go  and  get  it  for  him. 
He  shall  invent  the  excuse  that  he  has  come 
up  to  see  the  drains,  etc.  Here  is  a  dramatic 
situation  of  a  highly  comic  nature.  The  prob- 
lem for  solution  is,  will  the  laborer  get  the  hat 
or  will  he  not.''  In  either  case  what  will  be  the 
result  .-^  If  he  doesn't  get  it,  who  will,  is  a  sec- 
ond problem  that  suggests  itself.  In  this 
Beginning,  as  in  the  one  from  "Der  Tag,"  are 
the  essentials  of  a  good  dramatic  opening:  (1) 
Characters  are  presented  and  somewhat  per- 
sonalized; (2)  Incident  and  attendant  circum- 
stances are  clearly  put;  (3)  A  dramatic  situa- 
tion obtains;  (4)  A  problem  arises;  (5)  The 
problem  arouses  interest;  (6)  A  somewhat 
definite  tone  and  atmosphere  pervade  the 
whole;  (7)  and  there  is  an  unmistakable  point- 
ing forth  to  further  dramatic  action. 

The  construction  of  an  initial  dramatic  situ- 
ation that  will  provoke  the  interest  of  tlie  audi- 
ence and  will  at  the  same  time  point  forward  to 
subsequent  action,  is  the  structural  problem  for 


134  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

the  playwright  who  wishes  to  write  a  successful 
Beginning  to  a  One-act  play.  He  must  remem- 
ber that  the  audience  is  under  no  particular  ob- 
ligation to  be  interested  in  anything  he  may  pre- 
sent before  them  on  the  stage ;  on  the  contrary, 
it  is  his  obligation  to  see  to  it  that  his  own  work 
provokes  their  interest  and  emotional  response. 
A  successful  opening  is  a  vital  test  of  the 
dramatist's  skill ;  he  will  get  the  attention  of  the 
multitude  and  seize  their  interest  only  if  he  has 
craftsmanship  enough  to  enlist  it.  In  the 
Beginning,  the  author  has  opportunity — and 
it  is  his  prerogative  and  his  duty — to  get  to  his 
public  exactly  what  he  would  have  them  get ; 
to  have  them  think,  see,  feel,  understand,  and 
appreciate  the  initial  dramatic  situation  just 
as  he  would  have  them.  It  is  a  problem  in 
materials  and  craftsmanship.  Sir  James  M. 
Barrie  and  Lord  Dunsany  did  not,  one  may  rest 
assured,  write  their  Beginnings  in  a  trice  and 
without  any  forethought;  there  is  ample  evi- 
dence, when  the  plays  are  fully  analyzed,  that 
these  openings  were  carefully  wrought  to  a  given 
end.  The  beginner  in  dramatic  construction 
will  do  well  to  take  heed  of  their  example. 

Condensation  and  clearness  are  the  first  two 
essential  characteristics  of  a  good  opening  of 
a  One-act  play.  Vagueness  and  prolixity  will 
kill  any  play.  Economy  of  means,  time,  and 
attention  is  a  prime  consideration.     At  best. 


Beginning  of  the  One- Act  Play    135 

the  full  time  allotted  to  the  shorter  form  of 
drama  is  seldom  much  beyond  the  three-quarters 
of  an  hour  mark;  as  a  result,  the  Beginning,  if 
done  well,  must  be  done  quickly.  For  this  part 
of  the  play,  only  a  few  minutes  are  at  the  dis- 
posal of  the  dramatist.  Once  the  curtain  is  up, 
there  is  no  time  to  tarry,  every  moment  must  be 
occupied ;  the  playwright  cannot  stop  to  de- 
scribe the  scene,  to  narrate  the  circumstances, 
to  expound  character,  or  to  do  anything  else 
that  the  writer  of  a  novel  or  short-story  might 
indulge.  The  play  is  on  the  moment  the  cur- 
tain goes  up,  and  dramatic  action  and  dramatic 
dialogue  must  be  forthcoming  without  a 
moment's  delay.  Every  second  of  this  opening 
action  counts  heavily  for  or  against  the  success 
of  the  play  and  the  prospect  of  arousing  the 
interests  of  the  assembled  group.  There  can 
be  no  leisurely  starting  such  as  one  often  sees 
in  the  long  full-evening  plays ;  here  one  is  to 
run  the  hundred-yard  dash  rather  than  the 
mile  race, — and  the  methods  of  beginning  are 
essentially  different.  In  the  average  One-act 
play,  it  is  seldom  that  more  than  a  page  or  two 
of  printed  matter  is  devoted  to  the  Beginning. 
The  opening  parts  of  the  most  representative 
One-act  plays  are  masterpieces  of  dramatic 
condensation  and  clarity. 

Compression  and  economy  of  significant  de- 
tail give  a  sense  of  intensity  and  rapidity  of 


136  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

movement  that  is  essentially  dramatic.  Any 
attempt  to  put  all  the  details  of  expository 
material  into  the  Beginning  is  sure  to  lead  one 
to  grief.  All  non-essentials  must  be  eliminated : 
no  more  facts  of  incident  or  circumstance  are 
to  be  given  than  are  absolutely  necessary ;  only 
those  traits  of  character  which  give  personality 
and  dramatic  bent  are  to  be  revealed ;  the  situa- 
tion is  to  be  presented  in  its  elemental  sim- 
plicity rather  than  in  any  degree  of  unusual 
complexity.  The  whole  is  given  tone,  life,  and 
human  values  by  suggestive  and  connotative 
setting  and  dialogue. 

Indeed,  a  good  Beginning  of  a  One-act  play 
often  gives  one  the  sense  of  having  plunged  a  bit 
abruptly  into  a  situation ;  it  seizes  the  interest 
at  once,  and  directs  it  as  soon  as  possible  toward 
the  essential  action  of  the  play.  Lack  of  space 
prevents  further  illustration  from  typical  plays, 
but  such  bits  of  work  as  Alfred  Sutro's  "The 
Bracelet,"  Percival  Wilde's  "The  Traitor," 
Sir  James  M.  Barrie's  "The  Twelve  Pound 
Look,"  Lord  Dunsany's  "A  Night  at  an  Inn," 
Edgar  Allan  Woolf's  satirical  comedy,  "The 
Lollard,"  are  cases  in  point.  On  the  other 
hand,  there  are  many  other  quite  as  excellent 
One-act  plays  that  do  not  begin  so  dramatic- 
ally ;  moreover,  they  are  none  the  less  effective 
so  far  as  clearness  and  condensation  are  con- 
cerned.    An  examination  of  Thomas  H.  Dickin- 


Beginning  of  the  One- Act  Play     137 

son's  "In  Hospital,"  J.  Hartley  Manners' 
"Happiness,"  Lewis  Beach's  "The  Clod," 
William  Butler  Yeats's  "The  Hour-Glass," 
Zona  Gale's  "The  Neighbors,"  Paul  Hervieu's 
"Modesty,"  will  reveal  that  these  plays  begin 
somewhat  more  leisurely.  Prolixity  of  exposi- 
tory details,  too  elaborate  attempts  at  char- 
acterization, are  not  conducive  to  that  con- 
densation, clarity,  and  directness  of  action  so 
essential  in  the  Beginning  of  a  One-act  play. 
The  dramatist  should  seek  to  define  character 
sharply  and  tensely.  He  should  tell  in  a  quick, 
searching,  significant  dialogue  the  facts  that 
must  be  told.  And  he  should  let  his  opening 
scene,  on  which  the  following  development  de- 
pends, come  with  a  snap  and  a  perfectly  ade- 
quate, but  none  the  less  have-done-with-it, 
effect.  The  play  must  begin,  not  merely  start. 
The  most  effective  Beginning  is  that  which 
connotes,  that  which  suggests,  that  which  re- 
veals a  great  deal  more  than  is  given  directly. 
A  good  opening  fairly  teems  with  dramatic 
value  in  character,  in  situation,  and  in  dialogue. 
Broad,  deft  strokes  must  reveal  character  and 
individual  personality.  The  dialogue,  in  par- 
ticular, must  reveal  character  and  situation  by 
expressing  the  ideas  and  emotions  at  moments 
of  high  emotional  functioning.  It  is  in  these 
moments  that  personality  and  incident  are  most 
effectively  dramatic.     A  whole  character  may 


138  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

be  revealed  in  a  single  sentence  or  even  in  a 
single  word ;  or  a  bit  of  stage  business  may 
unveil  a  whole  latent  personality  or  emphasize 
a  complete  situation.  A  happy  combination  of 
dramatic  dialogue  and  significant  stage  business 
in  an  effective  stage  setting,  is  most  desirable 
in  an  opening.  This  combination  is  seen  to 
good  advantage  in  Sir  James  M.  Barrie's  "The 
Twelve  Pound  Look,"  Alice  Gerstenberg's 
"Overtones,"  and  Lord  Dunsany's  "The  Glit- 
tering Gate."  An  examination  thereof  will 
show  that  their  dramatic  strength  lies  in  their 
power  of  revealing  a  great  deal  more  than  is 
directly  presented. 

In  the  Beginning,  then,  the  dramatist  must 
keep  in  mind  that  in  the  One-act  play  there  is 
no  room  for  the  old-fashioned,  leisurely  exposi- 
tory conversation  between  courtier  and  menial, 
between  butler  and  parlor-maid,  or  between  the 
hero  and  his  confidant  or  between  the  heroine 
and  her  confidante.  No  reporter  can  have  a 
long  interview  with  the  man  of  the  house  or  the 
head  of  a  business  firm;  nor  can  one  person 
relate  the  story  of  his  life  to  another.  These 
methods  are  antiquated  even  in  the  longer  dra- 
matic form,  and  are  wholly  foreign  to  the  rapid 
beginning  of  the  One-act  play.  Moreover,  the 
opening  of  a  One-act  play  has  no  room  for  lively 
and  sparkling  dialogue  for  its  own  sake ;  it  has 
no  place  for  unnecessary  characters  or  for  unes- 


Beginning  of  the  One- Act  Play    139 

sential  elements  of  plot,  neither  of  which  appear 
as  forces  in  the  subsequent  development.  It 
must  be  remembered  that  the  plot  of  the  One-act 
form  is  structurally  simplified  and  that  the  ele- 
ments which  enter  into  the  Beginning  of  the  plot 
are  correspondingly  few  and  simple  but  none 
the  less  essential  and  fundamentally  dramatic. 

From  the  point  of  view  of  constructive  art, 
the  Beginning  is  ever  a  happy  medium  between 
extremes.  It  is  not  too  colorless,  nor  too 
ambitious.  It  is  not  too  long,  nor  too  short. 
It  presents  neither  too  much  nor  too  little.  It 
forestalls  but  does  not  foretell — anticipation 
will  kill  the  whole  play.  It  gives  rise  to  expec- 
tations, but  the  play  always  fulfils  them — 
there  must  be  no  blind  alleys.  It  must  be  rapid 
and  dramatic,  but  not  precipitous  and  merely 
striking.  The  cult  of  the  dramatic  punch  has 
been  too  much  overdone.  It  reveals  and  empha- 
sizes without  directly  stating  or  without  being 
obvious.  It  is  a  most  highly  effective  bit  of 
dramatic  composition ;  but  tricks,  pure  mechan- 
ics, and  the  glamour  of  the  artificial  are  not 
the  means  by  which  the  artistic  effect  is  secured. 

Where  and  How  to  Begin 

The  question  of  where  to  begin  the  play  is 
one  of  no  little  importance;  fortunately,  while 
a  fixed  rule  is   scarcely  ever  in  good  ])oint  in 


140  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

discussing  an  art  having  so  many  aspects  as 
play-making,  some  valuable  suggestions  can  be 
given  to  the  one  who  essays  dramatic  composi- 
tion for  the  first  time.  The  playwright  must 
keep  in  mind  that  in  the  One-act  play  there  is 
no  hiatus  in  time  as  there  often  is  in  a  short- 
story  or  a  novel ;  that  the  curtain  once  up,  there 
is  a  continuous  dramatic  progression  to  the 
close, — there  are  no  act  or  scene  divisions  as 
in  the  longer  play ;  and  that  the  One-act  play 
gives  a  compact  unity  of  effect  the  like  of 
which  the  longer  play,  cut  up  into  three  or  four 
divisions,  cannot  always  give.  Psychologists 
emphasize  the  fact  that  a  unity  of  effect  is  best 
secured  when  the  effect  is  presented  in  close 
connection  with  the  cause;  the  mind  responds 
best  when  the  two  are  in  relative  conjunction. 
One  of  the  most  fundamental  precepts,  there- 
fore, is  that  it  is  well  to  begin  the  play  as  near 
as  possible  to  the  point  of  highest  interest, — 
keeping  in  mind,  however,  that  one  is  obliged 
to  provide  a  sufficient  number  of  antecedent  sit- 
uations so  that  they  will  adequately  prepare  the 
mind  most  receptively  for  the  crucial  moment. 
It  was  pointed  out  in  the  chapter  on  plot 
that  if  there  are  too  few  situations  the  crucial 
moment  will  come  as  a  shock  because  the  audi- 
ence has  not  been  properly  prepared  for  it ;  and 
that  if  there  are  too  many,  there  will  be  little 
else  than  confusion  and  lack   of  interest.     In 


Beginning  of  the  One- Act  Play    141 

fact,  the  technique  of  the  One-act  form  demands 
that  one  shall  start  one's  play  as  late  as  pos- 
sible in  the  procession  of  events  and  shall  as- 
sume the  necessary  antecedent  incidents  in  pas- 
sages of  backward-looking  exposition.  The 
dramatist  should  catch  his  story  at  its  signifi- 
cant moment  and  then  construct  the  antecedent 
situations  in  the  light  of  psychology  and  the 
technical  requirements  of  the  One-act  play. 

In  the  next  place,  it  must  be  kept  in  mind 
that  the  writer  of  a  play  does  not  deal  with  a 
protracted  series  of  events  as  does  the  novelist ; 
he  deals  with  a  series  of  short,  sharp  crises. 
Likewise  it  must  be  remembered  that  in  real  life 
there  are  no  actual  beginnings ;  accordingly,  the 
playwright  must  construct  a  Beginning.  He 
must  begin  at  a  place  in  his  story  where  he  can 
accumulate  forces  and  incidents  strong  enough 
to  give  rise  to  an  inherently  dramatic  situation 
out  of  which  there  will  evolve  dramatic  action 
that  will  move  forward  to  a  final  outcome.  The 
curtain  should  be  raised,  then,  at  that  point 
where  character  and  incident  begin  to  assume 
significant  relations  with  such  force  and  rapid- 
ity as  will  indicate  subsequent  vital  movement. 

The  plot  of  every  One-act  play  is  the  con- 
densed essence  of  a  story  whose  length  is  usually 
much  longer  than  the  plot  and  invariably  much 
more  loose-jointed.  A  plot  is  constructed  out 
of  a  general  succession  of  events,  some  real  and 


142  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

some  invented.  Out  of  this  succession  of  events, 
the  dramatist  constructs  sharp  crises  and  a 
crucial  moment.  This  succession  of  events  is 
structurally  somewhat  similar  to  a  passing  pro- 
cession on  a  gala  day.  If  one  looks  at  the  pass- 
ing throng  in  the  thoroughfare,  he  sees  a  certain 
part  of  it  at  any  particular  moment  and,  no 
doubt,  remembers  much  of  what  has  gone  before 
and  may,  half  vividly,  imagine  what  is  to  come. 
If  a  person  wished  to  take  a  photograph,  and 
were  permitted  to  take  but  one,  he  should  want 
to  seek  out  that  very  brief  period  of  the  total 
movement  which  was  at  the  same  time  most 
vital  in  itself,  most  reminiscent  of  all  that  had 
gone  before,  and  most  suggestive  of  all  that  is 
to  follow.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  artist  halts 
the  procession  at  the  moment  when  the  whole  is 
most  vital  and  significant,  and  makes  a  work  of 
art  of  it.  The  writer  of  the  One-act  play  will 
so  condense  and  so  handle  his  material  that  both 
the  Beginning  and  the  End  will  most  effectively 
bring  out  and  emphasize  the  significance  of  the 
crucial  moment.  This  is  the  artistic  and  tech- 
nical demand  of  the  One-act  form. 

The  manner  in  which  it  is  most  advantageous 
to  open  a  play  is  best  determined  from  direct 
observation  of  a  theatre  audience  and  from  the 
practices  of  the  most  approved  playwrights  of 
the  day.  In  the  opening  of  any  play  that  is 
staged,  whether  One-act  or  three-act,  there  are 


Beginning  of  the  One- Act  Play     143 

two  fundamental  considerations  at  the  outset : 
one  is  that  when  the  curtain  goes  up  there  is 
immediately  present  the  matter  of  focussing 
the  attention  and  seizing  the  interest  of  the 
audience  to  the  play  on  the  stage ;  and  the  sec- 
ond is  that  there  is  always,  in  an  assembled 
group,  the  attendant  initial  confusion  of  bits  of 
hastil}'  ended  conversations  and  of  the  entrance 
of  late-comers.  Under  these  circumstances,  and 
every  one  knows  that  they  are  general  even  in 
these  days,  very  few  persons  in  the  play-house 
really  hear  the  first  few  lines  of  dialogue  of 
any  play.  In  a  three-act  play,  one  may  be- 
gin by  using  unessential  dialogue  or  by 
presenting  a  more  or  less  inconsequential  scene 
while  the  audience  is  settling  to  the  matter  be- 
fore them.  In  a  One-act  play,  on  the  other 
hand,  which  has  but  a  few  minutes  to  give  to 
the  Beginning  and  which  cannot  open  in  a  leis- 
urely way,  the  first  lines  are  usually  very  im- 
portant ;  and,  if  these  are  not  likely  to  be  heard, 
it  is  well  that  the  play  do  not  begin  with  dia- 
logue. Psychological  observation  offers  a  solu- 
tion:  although  the  majority  of  the  assembled 
group  may  not  be  able  to  hear  what  is  said  at 
the  outset  of  the  play  on  the  stage,  all  can  see 
what  is  done.  And  a  thorough  examination 
of  the  leading  One-act  plays  of  the  day  reveals 
that  a  very  large  percentage  of  them  open  with 
significant  stage  business  and  dramatic  panto- 


144  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

mime.  Seeing  is  believing,  in  the  theatre.  In- 
terpretative and  connotative  stage  business  and 
pantomime  which  catch  the  eye,  at  once  arouse 
attention  and  fix  it  upon  the  stage ;  as  a  re- 
sult, when  the  first  dialogue  is  spoken,  the 
audience  gets  its  full  import.  The  student  will 
spend  an  hour  to  good  end,  if  he  will  examine  the 
openings  of  such  plays  as  Thomas  H.  Dickin- 
son's "In  Hospital,"  Lord  Dunsany's  "The 
Glittering  Gate,"  George  Bernard  Shaw's 
"Press  Cuttings,"  William  Ellery  Leonard's 
"Glory  of  the  Morning,"  George  Middleton's 
"Criminals,"  "Embers,"  "The  Gargoyle,"  "The 
Cheat  of  Pity,"  Percival  Wilde's  "The  Noble 
Lord,"  Alfred  Sutro's  "Carrots,"  Richard 
Harding  Davis's  "Blackmail"  and  "Miss  Civili- 
zation." Each  is  a  happy  example  of  an  effec- 
tive Beginning.  Sir  James  M.  Barrie's  "Pan- 
taloon" and  "The  Twelve  Pound  Look"  are  ad- 
mirable examples  of  effective  openings.  The 
stage-business  and  pantomime  which  take  place 
in  the  "Twelve  Pound  Look"  before  a  word  of 
dialogue  is  spoken  are  an  apt  illustration  of 
what  a  master  dramatist  can  do  with  the  Begin- 
ning in  the  One-act  form, — 

Harry  is  to  receive  the  honor  of  knighthood 
in  a  few  days,  and  we  discover  him  in  the  sump- 
tuous 'snuggery'  of  his  home  in  Kensington 
(or  is  it  Westminster.''),  rehearsing  the  cere- 
mony with  his  wife.      They  have  been  at  it  all 


Beginning  of  the  One- Act  Play     145 

the  morning,  a  pleasing  occupation.  Mrs.  Sims 
(as  we  may  call  her  for  the  last  time,  as  it  were, 
and  strictly  as  a  good-natured  joke)  is  wearing 
her  presentation  gown,  and  personates  the  au- 
gust one  who  is  about  to  dub  her  Harry  knight. 
She  is  seated  regally.  Her  jewelled  shoulders 
proclaim  aloud  her  husband's  generosity.  She 
must  be  an  extraordinarily  proud  and  happy 
woman,  yet  she  has  a  drawn  face  and  shrinking 
ways  as  if  there  were  some  one  near  her  of 
whom  she  is  afraid.  She  claps  her  hands,  as 
the  signal  to  Harry.  He  enters  bowing  and  with 
a  graceful  swerve  of  the  leg.  He  is  only  partly 
in  costume,  the  sword  and  the  real  stockings 
not  having  arrived  yet.  With  a  gliding  motion 
that  is  only  delaj^ed  while  one  leg  makes  up  on 
the  other,  he  reaches  his  wife,  and,  going  on 
one  knee,  raises  her  hand  superbly  to  his  lips. 
She  taps  him  on  the  shoulder  with  a  paper-knife 
and  says  huskily,  'Rise,  Sir  Harry.'  He  rises, 
bows,  and  glides  about  the  room,  going  on  his 
knees  to  various  articles  of  furniture,  and  rises 
from  each  a  knight.  It  is  a  radiant  domestic 
scene,  and  Harry  is  as  dignified  as  if  he  knew 
that  royalty  was  rehearsing  it  at  the  other  end. 

Sir  Harry  (complacently)  :  Did  that  seem  all 
right,  eh.'' 

Lady  Sims  (much  relieved)  :  I  think  perfect. 

Sir  Harry:     But  was  it  dignified.'' 


146  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

Lady  Sims:  Oh,  very.  And  it  will  be  still 
more  so  when  you  have  the  sword. 

Sir  Harry:  The  sword  will  lend  it  an  air. 
These  are  really  the  five  movements — (Suiting 
the  action  to  the  word) — the  glide — the  dip — 
the  kiss — the  tap —  and  you  back  out  a  knight. 
It's  short,  but  it's  a  very  beautiful  ceremony. 
(Kindly)     Anything  you  can  suggest? 

Lady  Sims:  No — oh  no.  (Nervously,  seeing 
him  pause  to  kiss  the  tassel  of  a  cushion)  You 
don't  think  you  have  practised  till  you  know 
what  to  do  almost  too  well.'' 

(He  has  been  in  blissful  temper,  but  such 
niggling  criticism  would  try  any  man) 

Sir  Harry:  I  do  not.  Don't  talk  nonsense. 
Wait  till  your  opinion  is  asked  for. 


CHAPTER  VII 
THE   MIDDLE   OF   THE   ONE-ACT  PLAY 

The  Crucial  Moment 

Once  the  Beginning  of  the  One-act  play  is 
constructed,  the  next  structural  problem  to  be 
dealt  with  is  that  involved  in  the  crucial  mo- 
ment and  the  series  of  minor  crises  which  lead 
up  to  it, — the  Middle.  If  the  play  has  started 
well,  the  essential  forces,  of  whatever  nature, 
have  been  visualized  in  more  or  less  concrete 
action.  The  audience  has  been  made  aware  of 
a  dramatic  situation,  of  active  and  causal  rela- 
tions between  character  and  incident,  and  is  at 
once  somewhat  concerned  with  subsequent 
dramatic  action  and  with  the  ultimate  outcome. 
The  assembled  group  is  aware  of  certain  causes 
which  have  been  presented  to  it,  and  now  it  looks 
forward  to  the  effect.  Structurally,  the  Middle 
of  a  One-act  play  has  for  its  concern  a  crucial 
and  significant  moment  and  the  series  of  minor 
crises  which  lead  up  to  it. 

The  playwright  must  not  fail  to  conceive  the 
Middle  of  his  play  as  a  structural  and  organic 
unit;  it  is  a  dramatic  problem  no  less  important 

147 


148  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

and  no  less  difficult  than  that  involved  in  the 
Beginning  or  in  the  End.  While  the  Middle,  of 
need,  has  a  distinctive  organic  relation  to  the 
Beginning  and  to  the  End,  it  is,  nevertheless, 
something  of  a  problem  in  and  of  itself.  Its 
chief  interest  is  crisis ;  its  end  and  aim  is 
crucial  situation.  "A  great  play,"  says  Wil- 
liam Archer,  "consists  or  ought  to  consist  of  a 
great  crisis  worked  out  through  a  series  of 
minor  crises."  It  is  for  the  one  big  and  vital 
moment  that  the  Middle  exists.  Its  function  is 
to  present  this  crowning  effect  in  such  a  way 
as  to  justify  all  that  has  preceded  in  the  play 
and  to  emphasize  most  strongly  and  effectively 
the  crucial  significance  of  the  play  as  a  whole. 
The  playwright  is  obliged  to  conceive  this  as 
a  dramatic  problem  in  climax, — a  series  of  sig- 
nificant moments  leading  to  an  ultimate  out- 
come. 

The  crucial  moment  of  the  One-act  play  is 
the  focus,  the  capstone,  the  converging  point  of 
all  the  dramatic  forces  of  the  plot.  It  is  here 
that  the  playwright  has  his  largest  opportunity 
to  exemplify  the  theme  of  his  play  and  to  pro- 
voke in  his  audience  the  emotional  functioning 
and  the  response  he  desires.  It  is  the  apex. 
It  is  at  this  point  that  all  forces,  all  elements 
of  character,  all  the  dramatic  values  of  situa- 
tion, are  cooperative  to  a  determining  end.  It 
is  the  central  dynamic  scene,  illustrating  and 


Middle  of  the  One- Act  Play    149 

illuminating  all  that  has  gone  before  and  all 
that  is  to  follow.  Without  it  there  is  no  play ; 
it  is  for  this  one  thing  that  the  drama  exists. 
Whatever  motive  forces  there  are  in  the  charac- 
ters, whatever  dynamic  values  there  are  in  inci- 
dent and  in  circumstance,  whatever  cumulative 
dramatic  action  accrues  from  the  inter-play  of 
character  and  incident  through  a  series  of  minor 
crises, — these  all  play  their  trump  cards  at  the 
one  final,  crucial  moment. 

The  playwright,  in  dealing  with  his  plot,  must 
recognize  and  must  feel  that  this  vital  point 
comprises  the  one  dominant  emotional  impres- 
sion, or  the  sum-total  of  emotional  effect  of  a 
series  of  lesser  impressions  each  one  somewhat 
individual  in  itself,  yet  all  intcgratea  into  a 
larger  and  more  moving  homogeneous  unity.  It 
is  that  supreme  place  in  the  action  where  the 
emotional  values  are  most  deep,  most  stirring, 
and  where  they  affect  the  observer  more  strong- 
ly than  at  any  other  point.  It  is  strongly 
noticeable  that  an  audience  functions  very  deep- 
ly at  the  crucial  moment  in  such  plays  as  Mary 
Aldis's  "Extreme  Unction,"  Fenn  and  Price's 
" 'Op-o'-Me-Thumb,"  William  Butler  Yeats's 
"Cathleen  ni  Hoolihan,"  George  Middleton's 
"Criminals,"  Lewis  Beach's  "The  Clod";  and 
that  one's  sense  of  humor  is  strikingly  provoked 
at  the  crucial  moments  in  such  plays  as  Alice 
Gerstenberg's     "Overtones,"     Lady    Gregory's 


150  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

"The  Workhouse  Ward,"  Paul  Hervieu's 
"Modesty,"  and  Arthur  Schnitzler's  "A  Fare- 
well Supper"  and  "The  Wedding  Morning," 
and  George  Cram  Cook  and  Susan  Glaspell's 
"Suppressed  Desires."  These  moments  are 
most  dramatic  and  most  provocative  of  emo- 
tional response  because  they  represent  the  cul- 
mination of  suspense,  of  interest,  and  of  all  the 
emotional  values  that  have  preceded.  These 
are  the  moments  in  these  plays  when  one  is  most 
impelled  to  weep  or  to  laugh,  as  the  case  may  be. 
Such  points  in  a  play  usually  have  the  largest 
amount  of  dramatic  intensity, — the  place  where 
the  emotions  are  most  highly  wrought  up  and 
where  one  is  impelled  to  think,  to  feel,  or  to  want 
to  do  or  to  be.  With  electrifying  brilliancy 
they  illustrate  and  emphasize  the  highest  emo- 
tional values  of  plot. 

The  crucial  moment  of  a  One-act  play  is  the 
obligator!/  scene;  or,  as  Sarcey  terms  it,  the 
scene  a  faire.  It  is  that  moment  toward  which 
everything  has  pointed;  it  is  the  scene  which 
the  dramatist  must  present  else  there  is  no 
justification  for  the  existence  of  his  play.  It 
is  the  end,  the  finale,  the  consummate  result 
which  the  assembled  group  has  been  led  to  look 
forward  to.  Accordingly,  the  playwright,  hav- 
ing aroused  the  expectations  of  his  audience,  is 
obliged  to  satisfy  them  by  presenting  a  result, 
a  final  and  satisfying  crucial  moment.     He  must 


Middle  of  the  One- Act  Play     151 

present  in  action,  and  not  by  narration,  that 
point  where  the  struggle  or  inter-play  of  forces 
can  grow  no  more  tense,  where  there  can  be  no 
further  complication  and  where  something  vital 
must  happen  even  in  the  very  cutting  of  the 
knot. 

This  apex  of  the  dramatic  movement  is,  there- 
fore, frequently  coincident  with  some  significant 
and  definite  change  in  relations  between  char- 
acters or  between  characters  and  incident.  In 
the  crucial  moment,  sometimes  personality  is 
most  strikingly  revealed  and  sometimes  the  sit- 
uation is  most  highly  emphasized.  The  mo- 
ment the  crucial  point  is  reached  an  entirely 
new  situation  has  come  to  be ;  the  characters  are 
no  longer  in  the  same  relation  to  each  other, 
nor  are  the  incidents  and  circumstances,  amid 
which  they  have  further  relations,  the  same. 
The  inter-play  of  character  on  character  and 
of  character  on  incident  and  of  incident  on 
character,  is  forthwith  from  a  new  point  of 
view.  Tliis  significant  change  in  relations  be- 
tween characters  and  the  emphasis  on  person- 
ality or  on  situation,  as  the  case  may  be,  is 
well  illustrated  in  such  One-act  plays  as  August 
Strindberg's  "Countess  Julie"  and  "Facing 
Death,"  Alfred  Sutro's  "The  Correct  Thing" 
and  "The  Bracelet,"  Lord  Dunsany's  "The 
Lost  Silk  Hat,"  Sir  James  M.  Barrie's  "The 
Twelve  Pound  Look"  and  "Der  Tag,"  J.  Hart- 


152  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

ley  Manners'  "Happiness"  and  "The  Day  of 
Dupes,"  and  Edgar  Allan  Woolf's  satirical  so- 
cial comedy,  "The  Lollard."  If  the  playwright 
use  this  method  of  bringing  all  his  plot  forces 
to  an  apex,  he  must  see  to  it  that  the  change 
in  relations  between  the  characters  is  clear-cut 
and   conclusive. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  observing  dramatist 
soon  learns  that  not  all  dramatic  plots  end  in 
this  way.  In  not  a  few  One-act  plays,  a  situa- 
tion already  existing  throughout  the  dramatic 
movement,  is  but  reemphasized  more  strongly 
and  more  effectively  at  the  close.  Alice  Gersten- 
berg's  "Overtones"  is  a  case  in  point,  as  is  also 
Lady  Gregory's  "The  Workhouse  Ward." 
Analysis  of  this  type  of  play  will  reveal  that, 
in  conventional  terms  of  dramaturgy,  one  dra- 
matic force  does  not  triumph  over  the  other. 
Instead,  the  same  situation  and  the  same  rela- 
tion between  the  two  plot  factors  obtains 
throughout  the  play,  and,  at  the  end,  is  the 
more  effective  and  emphatic  because  of  the 
strongei-  tension  at  that  point. 

Whatever  aspect  the  crucial  moment  assume, 
it  should  be  an  event  more  or  less  remarkable 
in  some  respect.  It  may  be  a  significant  effect 
which  is  the  result  of  antecedent  causes,  as  in 
Lewis  Beach's  "The  Clod,"  or  in  August  Strind- 
berg's  "Facing  Death."  It  may  be  a  moment 
in  which  personality  and  character  must  strik- 


Middle  of  the  One- Act  Play     153 

ingly  reveal  themselves,  as  in  Alfred  Sutro's 
"The  Correct  Thing,"  and  in  Paul  Hervieu's 
"Modesty" ;  or  it  may  be  a  moment  of  very 
strong  emotional  functioning  as  in  George  Mid- 
dleton's  "The  Cheat  of  Pity,"  and  in  Fenn  and 
Price's  "  'Op-o'-Me-Thumb."  On  the  other 
hand,  it  may  be  an  unusual  situation,  as  in  Rich- 
ard Harding  Davis's  "Blackmail,"  in  Anton 
Tchekov's  "A  Marriage  Proposal,"  in  Philip 
Moeller's  "Helena's  Husband"  and  in  Margaret 
Cameron's  "The  Burglar."  Again  it  may  be 
a  moment  of  deep  and  tragic  recognition,  as  in 
Sir  James  M.  Barrie's  "Der  Tag,"  August 
Strindberg's  "Countess  Julie,"  George  Middle- 
ton's  "Criminals"  and  the  melodramatic  "The 
Finger  of  God"  of  Pervival  Wilde. 

It  cannot  be  too  strongly  impressed  upon 
the  playwright,  that  the  handling  of  the  crucial 
moment  is  a  very  important  dramatic  problem. 
The  crucial  moment  must  be  pointed  out  and  re- 
vealed ;  the  audience  demands  that  they  see  it — 
it  must  not  take  place  off  stage  nor  must  it  be 
narrated.  It  must  take  place  on  the  stage  in 
concrete  objective  action  accompanied  by  more 
than  ordinary  emotional  functioning.  As  a  re- 
sult, the  crucial  moment  of  a  One-act  play  is 
most  often  represented  by  significant  and  mean- 
ingful stage  business  and  by  a  minimum  of  dia- 
logue. Sometimes  only  a  short  sentence  or  two 
is  necessary,  and  not  infrequently  a  word  or  two 


154  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

suffices.  In  George  Middleton's  "The  Cheat  of 
Pity"  the  crucial  moment  comes  when  Mrs. 
Houston  reahzes  that  her  husband  has  just  died 
upstairs  and  that  her  lover  no  longer  cares  for 
her  because  she  permitted  her  pity  for  her  hus- 
band to  set  aside  her  affection  for  Craig  Gor- 
don, the  man  whom  she  loved.  The  whole  is 
revealed  in  her  words,  "Dead !  both  dead !" 
which  she  utters  in  tragic  and  heart-breaking 
tones.  In  the  melodramatic  and  spectacular 
"Blackmail"  of  Richard  Harding  Davis,  the 
crucial  moment  comes  when,  after  Fallon  has 
deliberately  shot  Mohun,  Kelly,  the  Pinkerton 
detective,  in  answer  to  a  question  over  the 
telephone  from  the  hotel  office,  says,  with  the 
tone  of  insistent  finality,  "Of  course  in  self- 
defence,  you  fool,  of  course,  in  self-defence!" 
A  single  sentence  is  all  that  is  necessary.  More 
than  this  would  spoil  the  whole  effect.  In  Au- 
gust Strindberg's  "Facing  Death"  the  final  sit- 
uation comes  when  Adele  realizes  that  her  fath- 
er, in  order  to  reheve  his  further  suffering  from 
his  vampire-like  daughters,  has  set  fire  to  the 
house  and  is  burning  himself  up,  and  that,  to 
escape  the  physical  pain  of  being  burned  he  has 
taken  poison. 

Adele:  It's  burning,  it's  burning!  Father, 
what's  the  matter  with  you.     You'll  burn  up. 

(Durand  lifts  his  head,  takes  the  water  glass 


Middle  of  the  One- Act  Play     155 

up  and  puts  it  down  with  a  meaningful  gesture) 
You  have — taken — poison  ! 

Durand  (Nods  affirmatively). 

Here  is  a  happy  combination  of  a  few  bits  of 
dialogue  and  of  accompanying  stage  business ; 
and  the  stage  business  reveals  and  expresses  in 
concrete  objective  action  what  dialogue  could 
not  possibly  express.  Again,  in  Lord  Dun- 
sany's  "The  Glittering  Gate,"  the  end  of  the 
dramatic  movement  comes  when  Bill,  who  with 
Jvm  has  been  trying  to  open  the  large  glitter- 
ing gates  of  heaven  and  who  is  anxious  to  see 
what  it  would  be  like,  succeeds  in  throwing  aside 
the  ponderous  portal — 

Bill  (  Staggering  and  gazing  into  the  revealed 
Nothing,  in  which  far  stars  go  wandering) 
Stars,  blooming  great  stars.  There  ain't  no 
heaven,  Jim. 

Whatever  the  nature  of  the  crucial  moment 
— change  in  relations  between  characters,  em- 
phasis of  a  situation  obtaining  throughout  the 
play,  revelation  of  personality,  a  striking  situa- 
tion, or  what  not — it  should  give  a  feeling  of 
finality  and  satisfaction.  The  supreme  moment 
in  such  plays  as  Marion  Craig  Wentworth's 
"War  Brides,"  William  Ellery  Leonard's 
"Glory  of  the  Morning,"  William  Butler  Yeats's 
"The  Hour-Glass,"  August  Strindberg's 
"Countess  Julie,"  and  Paul  Hervieu's  "Mod- 
esty" are  final  and  conclusive.     The  dramatic 


156  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

movements  come  to  a  complete  end ;  thereafter  a 
new  situation  obtains.  Tlie  more  a  final  crisis 
can  bring  all  plot  elements  to  a  complete  focus 
the  better  the  play.  The  apex  of  the  plot  move- 
ment of  a  One-act  play  should  be  conclusive  and 
satisfying — satisfying,  not  because  it  pleases 
the  audience,  for  in  some  cases  it  does  not  do 
this,  but  because  it  is  a  logical  and  plausible 
outcome. 

The   Progressive   Inter-play    of   Dramatic 

Forces 

In  the  One-act  play,  as  in  all  other  kinds  of 
fiction,  the  crucial  moment  is  the  result  of 
previous  causes  or  forces.  Something  has  come 
to  be  because  something  else  has  taken  place. 
A  significant  moment  obtains  because  there  has 
been  inter-play  of  character  and  incident. 
Forces  and  dramatic  elements  of  one  kind  or 
another  have  been  operative  to  a  given  result. 

It  would  seem  that  much  misunderstanding 
has  arisen — and  indeed  not  a  little  harm  has 
been  done — because  of  what  has  seemed,  in 
some  quarters,  to  be  over-insistence  on  the  pre- 
cept that  plot  depends  on  conflict,  struggle,  and 
contention, — the  push  and  pull  of  opposing  in- 
fluences that  threaten  to  change  the  state  of 
things  as  in  the  exposition  they  have  been 
shown  to  be.    When  Brunetiere  says  that,  "The 


Middle  of  the  One-Act  Play     157 

theatre  in  general  is  nothing  but  the  place  for 
the  development  of  the  human  will,  attacking  the 
obstacles  opposed  to  it  by  destiny,  fortune,  or 
circumstance,"  one  gets  the  feeling  that  he  was 
speaking  largely  from  the  point  of  view  of 
French  tragedy,  and  that,  unwittingly,  he  over- 
emphasized the  application  thereof  to  drama  in 
the  by  and  large.  And  when  he  asserts  that, 
"In  drama  or  farce,  what  we  ask  of  the  theatre 
is  the  spectacle  of  a  zeiU  striving  toward  a  goal, 
and  conscious  of  the  means  which  it  employs," 
he  has  again  over-emphasized  the  volitional  ini- 
tiative of  character  in  drama.  Again,  in  his 
statement,  "Drama  is  a  representation  of  the 
will  of  man  in  conflict  with  the  mysterious  pow- 
ers or  natural  forces  which  limit  and  belittle 
us ;  it  is  one  of  us  thrown  living  upon  the 
stage,  there  to  struggle  against  fatality,  against 
social  law,  against  one  of  his  fellow-mortals, 
against  himself,  if  need  be,  against  the  ambi- 
tions, the  interests,  the  prejudices,  the  folly,  the 
malevolence  of  those  who  surround  him,"  he 
once  more  emphasizes  the  volitional  initiative  of 
character  at  the  expense  of  another  equally  im- 
portant element — dramatic  incident. 

The  writer  of  a  play  must  keep  in  mind  that 
his  plot  is  the  result  of  the  inter-play  of  char- 
acter and  incident,  which  gives  rise  to  a  series 
of  crises  and  situations.  The  more  potential 
the    dramatic    elements    in    character    and    the 


158  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

more  vital  the  incidents,  the  more  dynamic  is 
the  plot-action.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  Sir 
James  M.  Barrie's  "The  Twelve  Pound  Look" 
has  far  more  drama  in  it  than  such  a  play  as 
Richard  Harding  Davis's  "Miss  Civilization"; 
and  it  is  for  this  same  reason  that  George  Cram 
Cook  and  Susan  Glaspell's  "Suppressed  De- 
sires" is  a  more  significant  comedy  than  Philip 
Moeller's  "Helena's  Husband."  Often,  indeed, 
this  dynamic  inter-play  of  forces  does  give  rise 
to  genuine  volitional  struggle,  to  wilful  con- 
tention, and  to  out  and  out  strife.  August 
Strindberg's  "Countess  Julie,"  Alfred  Sutro's 
"The  Correct  Thing,"  and  Lewis  Beach's  "The 
Clod"  have  very  strong  elements  of  struggle 
and  contention.  On  the  other  hand,  Zona  Gale's 
"Neighbors,"  Alice  Gerstenberg's  "Overtones," 
J.  Hartley  Manners'  "Happiness,"  and  Lord 
Dunsany's  "The  Glittering  Gate,"  are  not  char- 
acterized by  so  specific  a  struggle,  contest,  and 
contention.  It  must  be  understood,  however, 
that  in  a  drama  the  inter-play  of  character  and 
incident  giving  rise  to  crisis  and  situation  must 
be  vital  enough  to  provoke  emotional  response 
in  the  spectator;  but  to  advocate  that  this  in- 
ter-play must  be  in  the  nature  of  struggle,  con- 
flict, and  violent  contention  is  pushing  the  point 
too  far.  The  gist  of  the  whole  matter  is  that 
a  good  One-act  play  has  as  its  very  essence  in- 
ter-play of  forces  sufficiently  dynamic  to  arouse 


Middle  of  the  One-Act  Play     159 

interest,  to  provoke  suspense,  and  to  stimulate 
emotional  response  thereto.  The  stronger  the 
power  to  provoke  this  response,  the  more  dra- 
matic the  play.  Not  all  plays,  however,  are 
founded  on  one  of  the  passionate  cruces  of  life, 
when  duty  and  inclination  come  to  the  grapple. 
Although  many  plays  are  not  characterized 
by  a  specific  struggle  the  dramatist  must  re- 
member that  the  experiences  of  human  activity 
show  that  life  is  characterized  by  such  an  inter- 
play of  forces  as  often  does  assume  the  nature 
of  struggle  and  violent  grapple  with  obstacles. 
The  Anglo-Saxon  mind  has  such  experiences  as 
one  of  its  strongest  inheritances ;  accordingly 
it  is  eager  to  see  such  a  struggle,  and  often 
the  more  tragic  it  is  the  more  it  pleases.  The 
best  evidence  that  this  is  the  interest  of  human 
life  is  the  material  of  the  daily  press.  "Were 
you  to  ask  me,"  says  Chester  S.  Lord  of  the 
New  York  Sun  before  a  group  of  teachers  of 
journalism,  "to  name  the  kind  of  news  for 
which  the  people  surge  and  struggle,  I  surely 
must  reply  that  it  is  the  details  of  a  contest — 
a  fight  whether  between  men,  or  dogs,  or  ar- 
mies." Archibald  Henderson,  in  the  Forum  for 
August,  1914,  was  quite  in  point  when  he  said, 
"A  play  appeals  as  does  a  fight — a  prize-fight, 
bull-fight,  cock-fight,  etc., — struggle  naturally 
being  the  thing  best  adapted  to  emotional  ex- 
citation."     Human  nature,  it  may  be  observed. 


160  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

loves  a  fight,  whether  it  be  with  clubs  or  with 
swords,  with  tongues  or  with  brains.  The  dan- 
ger that  the  amateur  must  guard  against  is  that 
he  should  not  go  too  far  in  giving  to  his  char- 
acters so  strong  volitional  initiative  or  in  creat- 
ing obstacles  and  opposing  forces,  as  to  give  rise 
to  artificial  contention  and  theatrical  trick. 

The  inter-play  of  forces  in  a  dramatic  action 
may  assume  a  large  variety  of  aspects ;  the 
number  is  almost  legion.  In  August  Strind- 
berg's  "Facing  Death,"  it  is  the  struggle  of  a 
father  against  the  ill  treatment  of  his  three 
vampire-like  daughters  and  their  mother  before 
them.  In  George  Middleton's  "The  Cheat  of 
Pity,"  a  very  effective  play  on  the  stage,  the 
two  forces  operative  are  a  woman's  pity  for 
one  man  and  her  love  for  another.  In  Alice 
Gerstenberg's  "Overtones,"  the  dramatic  inter- 
play of  forces  lies  in  a  contrast  between  two 
women  who  are  very  decorous  and  flattering 
toward  each  other,  but  whose  real  natures,  in 
the  guise  of  supposedly  invisible  attendants,  are 
bitter  and  critical,  indeed  very  uncomplimen- 
tary, when  removed  from  social  restraint.  In 
Lady  Gregory's  "The  Workliouse  Ward,"  the 
quarrelsome  dispositions  of  two  invalid  Irishmen 
give  rise  to  highly  amusing  situations ;  and  in 
William  Butler  Yeats's  "Cathleen  ni  Hoolihan," 
the  two  dramatic  elements  giving  rise  to  move- 
ment are  a  youth's  love  for  his  sweetheart  whom 


Middle  of  the  One-Act  Play     161 

he  is  about  to  marry,  and  his  love  for  Ireland. 

A  critical  analysis  of  One-act  plays  reveals 
the  interesting  fact  that  many  of  them  are  in 
the  nature  of  a  quarrel  or  at  least  have  strong 
quarrel  scenes  in  them.  Alfred  Sutro's  "The 
Bracelet,"  "The  Correct  Thing"  and  "Ella's 
Apology,"  Anton  Tchekov's  "The  Boor"  and 
"A  Marriage  Proposal,"  August  Strindberg's 
"The  Stronger,"  "Pariah"  and  "The  Outlaw," 
Sir  James  M.  Barrie's  "The  Twelve  Pound 
Look"  and  "Der  Tag,"  George  Middleton's 
"Criminals,"  "On  Bail,"  "The  Wife"  and  "Tra- 
dition," Paul  Hervieu's  "Modesty,"  Alice  Ger- 
stenberg's  "Overtones,"  G.  Bernard  Shaw's 
"Press  Cuttings,"  Alice  Brown's  "Joint  Owners 
in  Spain" — each  has  in  it  an  element  of  quarrel. 
Because  of  this  element  each  one  of  these  plays 
has  a  strong  inter-play  of  forces,  which  gives 
rise  to  increasingly  interesting  situations.  A 
playwright  will  almost  surely  get  a  hearing  for 
a  play  that  is,  in  its  essentials,  a  quarrel  scene. 

Whatever  be  the  nature  of  the  inter-play  of 
forces  and  the  dramatic  action,  it  must  advance. 
Tiie  action  must  not  merely  progress ;  it  must 
be  cumulative  and  must  advance  with  rising  and 
increasing  interest.  Not  only  onward  but  also 
upward  is  the  movement  of  a  dynamic  action 
in  a  play.  This  can  obtain  only  when  each  suc- 
ceeding crisis  and  situation  grows  out  of  the 
one    immediately    before   it.      Progress    can   be 


162  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

present  only  when  there  arise  constantly  new 
things,  new  relations,  new  incidents,  all  of  which 
make  the  growing  complication  more  vital  and 
crucial.  The  action  must  be  cumulative;  each 
subsequent  situation  and  crisis  must  be  more 
vital  and  more  dynamic  than  the  previous  one 
else  there  is  no  advance  to  a  crucial  moment. 

The  Nature  of  Dramatic  Action 

Action,  says  Aristotle,  is  the  soul  of  drama ; 
and  Hegel,  Brunetiere,  and  almost  every  other 
critic  of  any  note  have  reemphasized  this  same 
idea.  Clever  dialogue,  however  racy,  witty,  or 
poignant,  will,  in  itself,  never  make  drama.  On 
the  other  hand,  emotional  scenes,  in  themselves, 
do  not  make  drama;  a  dramatic  scene  must 
have  crisis  and  situation  in  it;  must  be  signifi- 
cant and  must  lead  somewhere.  Action  is  not 
spectacle,  display,  or  theatrical  trick.  Action 
is  not  extraneous  gesture,  stage  business,  or 
stage  direction ;  action  is  not  a  running  about 
the  stage,  not  a  wild  throwing  of  the  arms  ac- 
companied by  utterances  full  of  sound  and  fury 
signifying  nothing.  These  arouse  and  electrify, 
but  for  the  moment  only ;  they  are  mere  excite- 
ment. Real  dramatic  action,  however,  is  that 
which  moves   one  emotionally   and   that  which  < 

makes  a  more  or  less  lasting  and  vital  impres-  | 

sion  upon  the  spectator.  ■ 


Middle  of  the  One-Act  Play     163 

Dramatic  action,  if  it  is  the  soul  of  drama  as 
Aristotle  has  asserted,  is  that  progressive  and 
vital  movement  of  a  play,  that  gives  the  play 
being  and  makes  it  what  it  is.  Dramatic  action 
is  the  perceivable  inter-play  of  character,  inci- 
dent, circumstance,  and  such  plausible  accidents 
of  life  as  may  befall  human  beings  or  may  sud- 
denly come  into  the  natural  course  of  events. 
The  careful  analysis  of  any  One-act  play  will 
reveal  that  its  soul  or  its  action  is  the  progress- 
ive movement,  the  inter-play  of  all  the  forces 
which  enter  into  its  make-up, — personality  of 
character,  dynamic  nature  of  incident  and  cir- 
cumstance, plausible  accident,  all  of  which,  be- 
cause of  their  very  nature,  give  rise  to  a  series 
of  situations  and  crises.  Dramatic  action 
means  the  dynamic  and  progressive  movement 
of  an  inter-play  of  forces  through  a  series  of 
situations  and  crises  to  a  final  outcome. 

If  the  playwright  is  to  get  this  action,  this 
progressive  inter-play  of  forces,  to  his  audi- 
ence, he  must  present  it  through  concrete  and 
objective  scenes  of  more  or  less  highly  emotional 
nature.  Strong  emotion,  psychologists  are 
agreed,  is  naturally  expressed  and  revealed  in 
outward  physical  manifestations  of  one  kind  or 
another.  Accordingly,  that  dramatic  action  is 
m.ost  effective  whose  emotional  values  appear  in 
concrete  and  objective  form.  Physical,  psycho- 
logical, and  emotional  action  should  co-exist  in 


164.  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

the  series  of  crises  in  the  play.  To  reveal  per- 
sonality, emotion,  and  dramatic  action  through 
concrete  demeanor  of  characters  is  the  task  of 
the  playwright.  He  must  visualize  for  his  au- 
dience, in  terms  of  suggestive  and  connotative 
action,  the  emotional  functioning  of  his  drama- 
tis personce;  their  struggles  and  personalities 
must  be  seen  and  not  related.  Drama  appeals 
to  the  eye  and  not  to  the  ear.  The  writer  who 
can  show  the  cruces  of  life,  and  who  can  carry 
emotional  values  across  the  foot-lights  to  the  as- 
sembled group,  through  interpretative  and  sig- 
nificant concrete  action,  has  advanced  far  in 
the  practical  aspect  of  dramaturgy. 

The  playwright  should  also  keep  in  mind  that 
not  only  is  dramatic  action  most  often  ex- 
pressed in  terms  of  the  objective,  but  it  is  also 
identified  with  the  more  vital  aspects  of  incident 
and  character.  The  most  telling  dramatic  action 
is  that  which  takes  place  within  the  hearts  and 
souls  of  men  and  women.  It  is  coincident  with 
those  moments  when  the  human  soul  is  being 
put  to  the  test.  Action  is  dramatic  only  when 
it  means  something  and  when  it  leads  somewhere. 
A  man  whose  life  is  at  stake  at  the  point  of  a 
pistol  is  by  no  means  so  dramatic  a  figure  as  he 
would  be  if  his  personality  and  his  very  soul's 
being  are  at  stake  at  the  point  of  some  one  else's 
ideas,  personality,  or  course  of  action.  That 
which  makes  the  action  of  Alfred  Sutro's  "The 


Middle  of  the  One-Act  Play     165 

Correct  Thing"  so  moving  and  dramatic  is 
that  the  very  soul's  longing  of  Kitti/  Bellany 
is  at  stake  because  of  the  personality  and  con- 
duct of  her  erstwhile  lover,  D'Arcy  Galbraith. 
In  August  Strindberg's  "Countess  Julie,"  not 
only  the  personality  but  even  the  life  of  Julie 
is  at  stake  because  she  has  fallen  a  victim 
to  a  stronger  personality — that  of  her  seducer, 
Jean. 

Indeed,  the  dramatist  should  keep  in  mind 
that  dramatic  action  does  not  obtain  until  the 
representation  or  the  inter-play  of  forces  as- 
sumes a  vital  and  significant  aspect.  In  the  Be- 
ginning of  a  play  the  status  quo,  the  initial 
existing  state  of  things  and  the  initial  situation, 
has  been  presented.  The  very  moment  this  ex- 
isting state  of  affairs  is  threatened  with  sig- 
nificant change,  there  is  action — the  movement 
or  development  of  the  plot  begins.  Something 
has  happened  or  has  been  done  that  threatens 
to  produce,  or  actually  does  produce,  change; 
matters  are  not  as  they  were;  a  new  condition 
or  influence  has  thrust  itself  in,  and  this  new 
element  must  either  be  got  rid  of,  or  else  it 
must  be  accepted  as  the  stronger.  From  this 
moment  there  is  an  inter-play  of  forces,  either 
tragic  or  comic,  of  more  than  ordinary  signifi- 
cance. Neither  character  nor  incident  are  iden- 
tical with  what  they  were  before;  they  find 
themselves   in   a  different   relation    one   to    the 


166  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

other.  Their  personalities  react  upon  each 
other  with  telling  force:  something  is  at  stake, 
the  inter-play  of  forces  is  vital  and  the  dramat- 
ic movement  is  under  way.  The  latent  possi- 
bilities in  character  and  incident  must  func- 
tion sufficiently  strong  to  be  vital  and  sig- 
nificant, before  action,  in  the  real  dramatic 
sense,  may  be  said  to  obtain. 

Strong  emotional  functioning  expressed  and 
revealed  in  terms  of  objective  conduct  is  ever 
the  law  of  drama.  What  the  audience  responds 
to  is  not  words,  but  human  character  and  emo- 
tion seen  in  terms  of  action  and  situation.  Ac- 
tionless  and  emotionless  drama  is  a  contradic- 
tion in  terms ;  a  play  of  that  kind  always  fails, 
or  at  least  is  a  negligible  non-dramatic  success. 
The  human  mind  is  inherently  fond  of  observing 
a  picture  of  human  life  in  which  personality  re- 
veals itself  or  in  which  personality  is  at  stake. 
Personality,  emotion,  action, — these  are  the 
elements  of  dramatic  crisis.  And  crisis  is  what 
the  playwright  must  ever  seek  for.  He  will  do 
well  to  take  seriously  to  heart  that — 

"If  you  desire  to  write  a  play. 
Then  here's  the  vital  notion: 
Each  act  and  scene  should  well  display 
Both  motion  and  emotion." 


Middle  of  the  One- Act  Play     167 


The  Minor  Rhythmical  Movements  and 
"Points" 

The  structural  problem  involved  in  construct- 
ing the  Middle  of  a  One-act  play  is  that  of 
climax.  One  may  easily  slide  down  a  ladder, 
but  it  must  be  ascended  step  by  step.  In  climb- 
ing a  mountain,  the  procedure  is  usually  that  of 
advancing  over  incline  after  incline;  there  is 
seldom,  if  ever,  a  smooth  and  uniform  move- 
ment to  the  top.  Only  by  going  over  a  series 
of  ever  increasing  difficult  and  more  precipi- 
tous inclines  is  the  summit  reached  and  the 
whole  vista  beyond  revealed.  The  playwright 
should  be  cognizant  of  the  fact  that  a  dramatic 
gradation  to  the  crucial  moment  is  largely  a 
structural  matter  and  one  of  no  small  conse- 
quence. He  must  understand  it  as  a  complex 
study  in  climactic  arrangement. 

One  of  the  very  first  things  that  a  play- 
wright learns  in  working  out  a  plot  or  a  dramat- 
ic action  is  that,  because  of  the  very  nature  of 
inter-play  of  dynamic  forces,  there  is  a  tendency 
for  the  whole  dramatic  movement  to  resolve  it- 
self into  a  number  of  minor  dramatic  move- 
ments. Seldom  are  these  of  equal  length,  nor 
are  they  in  the  same  emotional  plane.  Crises 
are  the  end  and  aim  of  drama ;  hence  each  suc- 
ceeding minor  movement  is  usually  more  dra- 


168  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

matic  and  correspondingly  shorter.  The  gen- 
eral movement  of  the  whole  is  staccato  rather 
than  legato.  As  a  matter  of  good  dramaturgy, 
it  is  highly  desirable  that  the  general  progres- 
sive movement  be  not  mechanically  gradual  and 
regular, — the  idealized  conceptions  of  some 
critics  to  the  contrary  notwithstanding.  The 
very  irregularity  and  uncertainty  of  the  move- 
ment, though  it  should  always  have  an  upward 
and  climactic  tendency,  is  one  of  the  greatest 
sources  of  interest  and  suspense  in  dramatic 
action.  In  any  case,  the  progressive  action  of 
any  One-act  play  tends  to  resolve  itself  into 
a  series  of  minor  movements. 

An  analysis  of  Sir  James  M.  Barrie's  very 
tragic  "Der  Tag,"  a  play  by  no  means  tech- 
nically perfect,  will  show  that  it  falls  into  two 
minor  dramatic  movements.  The  first  includes 
the  movement  up  to  the  dream  of  the  Emper- 
or, and  the  second  includes  the  drama  proper, 
with  the  awakening  at  the  close.  Further 
analysis  will  show  that  the  first  movement  is 
composed  of  two  lesser  movements:  (1)  The 
meeting  between  An  Officer,  The  Chancellor, 
and  An  Emperor,  in  which  the  Emperor  is  urged 
to  sign  a  declaration  of  war,  and  (2)  the  solil- 
oquy of  the  Emperor  after  the  Officer  and  the 
Chancellor  have  left  at  the  Emperor's  request. 
The  second  main  movement  is  composed  of 
three  lesser  movements :      ( 1 )    The   Spirit   of 


Middle  of  the  One- Act  Play     169 

Culture  pleads  with  the  Emperor  not  to  sign, 
(2)  the  entrance  of  the  Officer  and  the  Chancel- 
lor both  of  whom  are  dismissed  by  the  Emperor 
who  has  decided  that  there  shall  be  no  war, 
and  (3)  the  second  appearance  of  the  Spirit 
of  Culture  to  the  Emperor,  who  really  had  de- 
clared war  although  he  had  dreamed  that  he 
had  not  done  so,  whose  recognition  of  the  havoc 
war  has  brought  among  the  nations  is  a  tragic 
crucial  moment.  An  examination  of  the  struc- 
ture of  Lord  Dunsany's  "The  Lost  Silk  Hat" 
will  reveal  that  that  delightful  comedy  resolves 
itself  into  two  minor  movements:  (1)  That  in 
which  the  Caller  wishes  some  one  to  get  his  hat, 
and  (2)  that  in  which  he  is  impelled  to  get  it 
himself.  Furthermore,  the  whole  play  divides 
itself  into  four  rather  distinct  divisions:  (1) 
The  Caller  wishes  a  Laborer  to  get  the  hat ;  (2) 
the  Caller  wishes  a  Clerk  to  get  it;  (3)  The 
Caller  wishes  the  Poet  to  get  it  and  (4)  the  re- 
solving movement  of  the  Poet  and  the  Police- 
man. Further  study  of  this  play  will  reveal 
that  these  minor  movements  are  not  of  equal 
length  but  that  they  tend  to  grow  in  dramatic 
value  and  in  rapidity  of  progress  as  the  play 
grows  to  an  end.  Additional  examination  of 
other  One-act  plays  will  show  that  they  all  tend 
to  fall  into  a  series  of  minor  rhythmical  move- 
ments. 

It   is   hardly   too   much   to   say    that   if   the 


170  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

dramatist  does  not  consciously  feel  and  recog^ 
nize  this  rhythmical  movement  in  the  inter-play 
of  the  forces  in  his  plot,  he  has  not  yet  arrived 
at  a  point  in  his  construction  where  his  plan 
is  really  a  dramatic  unit.  Until  he  does  feel 
this  rhythmical  movement,  this  series  of  crises — 
for  drama  is  made  up  of  a  series  of  crises — his 
plot  has  not  ripened  and  is  not  yet  ready  for 
use. 

Structurally,  each  one  of  these  minor  move- 
ments is  a  dramatic  problem  in  itself;  each 
minor  movement,  growing  as  it  does  out  of  pre- 
vious conditions  and  leading  to  a  subsequent 
one,  has  something  of  the  structural  aspect 
characteristic  of  the  whole  play.  If  an  exami- 
nation is  made  of  the  structural  design  of  the 
series  of  movements  in  Sir  James  M.  Barrie's 
"Der  Tag"  and  Lord  Dunsany's  "The  Lost 
Silk  Hat" — and  for  that  matter  any  One-act 
play — it  will  appear  that  each  one  of  the  move- 
ments is  something  of  a  further  study  in  climax. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  second  important 
thing  that  a  playwright  learns,  as  he  grows  in 
constructive  ability  and  as  he  familiarizes  him- 
self more  and  more  with  the  dramatic  methods 
and  structure  employed  by  others  in  the  work- 
ing out  of  a  plot,  is  that  each  one  of  the  minor 
movements  of  a  plot  is  usually  made  up  of  a 
series  of  more  or  less  individual  "points"  (the 
word  "point"  is  used  here  because  the  words 


Middle  of  the  One-Act  Play    171 

"episode,"  "incident,"  or  "situation,"  are  too 
comprehensive  and  too  inclusive)  whose  indi- 
viduality does  not  often  appear,  however,  ex- 
cept when  the  movement  is  critically  analyzed. 
Just  as  the  whole  play  is  made  up  of  the  series 
of  minor  crises  and  movements  so  is  each  one 
of  these  movements  made  up  of  a  series  of 
"points."  It  is  a  structural  problem  in  the  de- 
tails of  a  dramatic  movement. 

If  an  analysis  is  made  of  the  first  movement 
in  Sir  James  M.  Barrie's  "Der  Tag"  it  will  ap- 
pear that  after  the  premises  of  the  Beginning, 
in  which  it  is  made  clear  that  An  Officer  and 
The  Chancellor  wish  An  Emperor  to  sign  a 
declaration  of  war  against  France  and  Russia, 
there  is  a  series  of  twelve  points:  (1)  The  Em- 
peror is  not  afraid  to  sign !  The  Emperor  has 
made  the  Fatherland  what  it  is,  (2)  Enemies 
must  not  be  dealt  with  together  but  separately, 
(3)  The  Day  has  come — if  Britain  wants  war 
she  may  have  it  now,  (4)  No  road  to  Britain 
until  the  neighbors  are  subdued,  (5)  Britain 
will  not  join  now — she  is  too  busy  with  her  own 
internal  affairs,  (6)  Britain  has  grown  sluggish 
— her  part  in  the  World's  making  is  done,  (7) 
Chancellor  has  attempted  a  secret  treaty  with 
Britain  against  France,  (8)  Emperor  can  fling 
a  million  men  within  a  week  across  the  border 
into  France,  (9)  Officer  urges  the  Emperor  to 
go   through   Belgium — but    the    Emperor   will 


172  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

keep  his  word  of  honor,  (10)  Chancellor  sug- 
gests that  he  has  private  ground  for  thinking 
that  France  would  hack  her  way  through  Bel- 
gium, (11)  "Bonaparte  would  have  acted 
quickly,"  (12)  Emperor  asks  the  Officer  and 
the  Chancellor  to  leave  and  return  in  an  hour 
when  he  will  have  signed  it.  If  the  second 
movement  (that  of  the  Emperor's  soliloquy)  is 
analyzed,  it  will  appear  that  tliis  is  made  up  of 
five  "points":  (1)  Every  king's  life  has  its 
day  of  opportunity — and  this  is  the  Emperor's, 

(2)  Plans  for  the  capture  of  Paris,  sweeping 
the  English  Channel  and  capture  of  London, 
British  fleet  destroyed,  and  America  carved  in- 
to mouthfuls  for  colonists,  (3)  "Dictator  of 
the  world!",  (4)  "God  in  the  heavens,  I  upon 
the  earth,  we  two!",  (5)  " — the  Zeppelins!  Pll 
sign!" 

In  the  next  movement,  in  which  the  Spirit  of 
Culture  appears  to  the  Emperor  in  a  dream, 
the  Emperor  gives  his  reasons  for  declaring 
war:  (1)  Germany  wishes  to  spread  farther  the 
banner  of  Culture,  (2)  The  nations  are  jealous, 

(3)  It  is  Germany's  divine  mission  to  expand, 
and  (4) — 

Emperor:  France  invades  little  Belgium. 

Culture:  Chivalrous  France!  Never!  Em- 
peror, I  leave  one  last  word  to  you  at  the  part- 
ing of  the  ways.  France,  Russia,  Britain,  these 
are  great   opponents,  but  it   is   not   they   will 


Middle  of  the  One-Act  Play     173 

bring  the  pillars  of  Germany  down.  Beware 
of  Belgium! 

In  the  following  movement,  a  short  but  very 
dramatic  one,  the  Emperor  commands  to  the 
Officer  and  the  Chancellor  that  "there  will  be 
no  war."     "That  be  my  Zenith !" 

The  last  movement  leading  up  to  the  crucial 
moment  is  a  happy  illustration  of  how  a  dra- 
matic strophe  is  made  up  of  a  series  of  "points," 
— in  tliis  case  nine  of  them. 

(He  goes  back  to  the  chair;  he  sleeps  peace- 
fully; in  the  distance  a  bell  tolls  the  Angelus; 
and  suddenly  this  is  broken  by  one  boom  of  a 
great  gun,  which  reverberates  and  should  be 
startling.  The  Spirit  of  Culture  returns,  now 
with  a  wound  in  her  breast;  she  surveys  him 
sadly.) 

Culture:  Sleep  on,  unhappy  King.  (He  grows 
restless.)  Better  to  wake  if  even  your  dreams 
appal  you. 

(He  wakes  and  for  a  moment  he  scarcely 
understands  that  he  has  been  dreaming;  the 
realization  is  tragic  to  him.) 

Emperor:  You  !  You  have  come  here  to  mock 
me! 

Culture:  Oh,  no. 

Emperor:  I  dreamed  there  was  no  war.  In 
my  dream  they  came  to  me  and  I  forbade  the 
war.  I  saw  the  Fatherland  smiling  and  pros- 
perous, as  it  was  before  the  war. 


174  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

Culture:  It  was  you  who  made  the  war,  O 
Emperor ! 

Emperor  (huskily)  :  Belgium. 

Culture:  There  is  no  Belgium  now,  but  over 
what  was  Belgium  there  rests  a  soft  light,  as  of 
a  helm,  and  through  it  is  a  flaming  sword. 

Emperor:  I  dreamed  I  had  kept  my  plighted 
word  to  Belgium. 

Culture:  It  was  you,  O  Emperor,  who  broke 
your  plighted  word  and  laid  waste  the  land.  In 
the  lust  for  victory  you  violated  even  the  laws 
of  war  which  men  contrive  so  that  when  the 
sword  is  sheathed  they  may  dare  again  face 
their  Maker.  Your  way  to  Him  is  lighted  now 
by  smouldering  spires  and  ashes  that  were  once 
fair  academic  groves  of  mine,  and  you  shall 
seek  Him  over  roads  cobbled  with  the  moans 
of  innocents. 

Emperor:  In  my  dream  I  thought  England 
was  grown  degenerate  and  would  not  fight. 

Culture:  She  fought  you  where  Crecy  was, 
and  Agincourt,  and  Waterloo,  with  all  their 
dead  to  help  her.  The  dead  became  quick  in 
their  ancient  graves,  stirred  by  the  tread  of  the 
island  feet,  and  they  cried  out :  "How  is  Eng- 
land doing?"  The  living  answered  the  dead 
upon  their  bugles  with  the  "All's  well."  Eng- 
land, O  Emperor,  was  grown  degenerate,  but, 
you,  1/ou,  have  made  her  great.  / 

Emperor:  France,  Russia.'*  ^ 


Middle  of  the  One-Act  Play     175 

Culture:  They  are  here  around  your  walls. 

Emperor:  My  people? 

Culture:  I  see  none  marching  but  men  whose 
feet  make  no  sound.  Shades  of  your  soldiers 
who  pass  on  and  on,  in  never-ending  lines. 

Emperor:  Do  they  curse  me.'' 

Culture:  None  curses;  they  all  salute  you  as 
they  pass.     They  have  done  your  bidding. 

Emperor:  The  women  curse  me.'' 

Culture:  Not  even  the  women.  They,  too, 
salute  you.  You  were  their  Father  and  could 
do  no  wrong. 

Emperor:  And  you.'' 

Culture:  I  have  come  with  this  gaping  wound 
in  my  breast  to  bid  you  farewell. 

Emperor:  God  cannot  let  my  Germany  be 
utterly  destroyed. 

Culture:  If  God  is  with  the  Allies,  Germany 
will  not  be  destroyed.  Farewell.  (She  is  go- 
ing. She  lifts  a  pistol  from  the  table  and  puts 
it  in  his  hand.  It  is  all  she  can  do  for  her  old 
friend.  She  goes  away  with  shining  eyes.  The 
penny  dip  burns  low.  The  great  Emperor  is 
lost  in  its  shadows.) 

A  third  thing  that  the  practising  play- 
wright soon  learns  is  that  it  is  in  these  move- 
ments, crises,  and  "points"  that  he  has  his  op- 
portunity to  reveal  character,  situation,  and 
emotion  in  terms  of  concrete  objective  action. 
These  are  the  moments  for  revealing  flashes  of 


176  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

personality,  for  expressing  some  pertinent  ob- 
servation of  life.  It  is  here  that  the  emotional 
functioning  is  strongest — here  is  the  dramatic 
momentum.  It  is  in  these  moments  that  per- 
sonahty  clashes  with  personality,  force  with 
force,  motive  with  motive.  Usually  a  good 
dramatic  story  has  the  material  for  these  crises 
and  "points"  already  at  hand ;  if  the  material 
is  not  present,  the  playwright  must  invent  it 
and  must  create  minor  crises  for  the  proper 
sequence — keeping  in  mind  all  the  while  its 
relation  to  the  general  dramatic  movement  and 
to  the  crucial  moment.  It  is  by  presenting  a 
climactic  series  of  movements,  crises,  and 
"points"  that  the  dramatist  reveals,  rather 
than  tells,  his  story  to  the  assembled  group.  It 
is  through  this  series  of  concrete  pictures  that 
he  has  his  opportunity  to  reach  his  audience. 
Practical  laboratory  work  in  playwriting,  as 
conducted  in  the  University  lecture  room,  has 
shown  that,  in  plotting  and  writing  a  play,  the 
student  will  make  far  more  progress  in  master- 
ing the  technique  of  his  craft  if  he  will  handle 
the  various  minor  movements  and  minor  crises 
on  separate  sheets  of  paper.  If  he  will  use  a 
separate  sheet  of  paper  for  each  succeeding 
crisis  and  situation,  he  will  conceive  each  one 
as  a  separate  dramatic  problem.  Indeed  a  One- 
act  play  is  a  large  structural  problem  composed 
of  a  number  of  organic  and  inter-related  smaller 


Middle  of  the  One-Act  Play     177 

structural  problems.  "To  make  it  a  complete 
unity,"  says  Brett  Page,  "every  little  scene 
demands  as  careful  thought  as  does  the  entire 
playlet.  A  playlet  may  be  suggestively  de- 
fined as  a  number  of  minute-long  playlets  mov- 
ing vividly  one  after  the  other  to  make  a  vivid 
whole."  On  the  other  hand,  the  dramatist  must 
not  forget  that  while  every  movement,  situa- 
tion, or  crisis  is  something  of  a  problem  in  it- 
self, each  one  must  be  conceived  and  worked 
out  from  the  point  of  view  of  its  relation  to  the 
final  outcome,  and  that  whatever  mechanics 
there  is  in  the  structural  order  and  design,  all 
evidence  of  it  must  be  removed  by  blending  the 
various  parts  into  a  smooth  and  harmonious 
unit. 

Blending,  Suspense,  Prepaeation 

To  the  practical  dramatist  who  knows  his 
craft,  a  play  appears  both  as  a  unit  and  as  a 
series  of  structural  and  organic  parts.  And  it 
is  only  on  careful  analysis  that  these  individual 
parts  appear  to  the  layman.  In  no  case  should 
this  individuality  and  mechanical  aspect  of 
parts  appear  in  the  acted  form  on  the  stage. 
To  remove  any  possibility  of  such  effect,  the 
skilled  playwright  so  blends  the  various  parts 
into  a  whole  and  finished  product  that  to  the 
assembled  group  there  is  no  hitch  or  division, 
but  all  appears  as  a  smooth  dramatic  movement. 


178  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

The  effective  dramatist,  by  long  and  arduous 
work,  removes  the  evidence  of  the  mechanical  by 
ever  working  and  moulding  the  parts  in  the 
light  of  the  ultimate  outcome,  thereby  blending 
all  plot  elements  into  a  complete  and  harmoni- 
ous unity. 

If  a  play  is  perfectly  plotted,  if  each  situa- 
tion grows  out  of  its  predecessor  and  also 
gives  rise  to  its  successor,  the  matter  of  blend- 
ing almost  takes  care  of  itself.  This  sort  of 
plotting  implies  that  each  crisis  and  situation 
has  been  conceived  in  its  relation  to  the  general 
dramatic  action  and  in  its  relation  to  the 
crucial  moment.  From  the  organic  aspect  of 
dramatic  movement,  it  is  the  function  of  the 
playwright  to  carry  the  action  up  to  one  crisis 
only  to  seize  it  anew  and  carry  it  upward  to  a 
still  higher  dramatic  moment.  To  do  this  means 
that  the  writer  must  construct  his  climactic 
series  of  minor  crises  in  an  organic  sequence, 
there  must  be  a  blending  together  of  the  parts. 
In  a  word,  there  must  be  no  breaks ;  no  move- 
ment, no  crisis,  no  "points,'*  should  end  in  a 
blank  wall. 

The  problem  of  blending  may  be  considered 
from  a  number  of  structural  points  of  view. 
Not  infrequently  this  blending  may  be  had 
largely  by  following  the  chronological  sequence 
of  crises  and  situations  as  they  appear  in  the 
material  of  the  story.     Again,  in  the  more  ar- 


Middle  of  the  One- Act  Play     179 

tificial  aspects  of  plotting,  it  may  be  secured 
by  developing  from  the  less  emotional  point  to 
the  most  emotional  one.  Then,  too,  it  may  be 
had  by  advancing  from  antecedent  causes  to 
subsequent  effect.  On  the  other  hand,  it  may 
be  secured  by  giving  to  a  leading  character 
such  vohtional  initiative  that  he  is  able  to  sur- 
mount every  obstacle  and  reach  a  given  end ;  or 
it  may  be  brought  about  by  conceiving  a  series 
of  incidents  with  which  a  leading  character  is 
brought  into  contact,  with  the  result  that  his 
personality  is  revealed  along  a  rather  pre- 
scribed line  of  development ;  and,  in  a  third  case, 
one  character  of  one  personality  may  be  deftly 
pitted  against  a  character  of  another  person- 
ality, the  inter-action  between  the  two  giving 
rise  to  a  series  of  situations.  Not  infrequently 
a  dramatist  blends  by  telescoping  the  end  of  one 
crisis  or  movement  with  the  beginning  of  the 
next  one.  A  note  of  warning  is  here  in  point: 
it  is  crisis  that  the  writer  must  seek;  accord- 
ingly, he  should  not  let  his  crises  or  movements 
telescope  too  much  else  a  merely  commonplace 
narrative  may  result.  The  playwright  should 
see  that  each  situation  develops  the  plot  just 
as  far  as  it  can  and  that  it  present  all  the 
story  factors  within  its  limits.  If  he  blends 
loosely  and  over-laps  the  crises  too  much,  there 
will  no  dramatic  intensity  accompany  them. 
The  ideal  dramatic  structure  is  that  one  sit- 


180  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

uation  shall  cue  with  another;  yet,  it  must  be 
remembered,  that  ideal  dramaturgy  always  gives 
way  to  genuine  dramatic  values.  If  each  scene 
or  crisis  represents  an  important  movement  of 
the  action,  and  if  they  are  managed  effectively, 
and  if  they  are  grouped  in  a  series  according 
to  some  logical  plan  and  to  the  main  effect,  the 
mere  fact  that  some  of  them  are  sharply  de- 
fined one  from  the  other  and  not  very  well  blend- 
ed, will  produce  no  sense  of  division  or  inco- 
herence when  presented  on  the  stage  and  ob- 
served by  an  audience. 

It  is  not  going  too  far  to  assert  that  one  of  i 

the  most  effective  factors  in  blending  the  parts  I 

of  a  dramatic  action  into  a  unit  is  dramatic  '^, 

suspense.     "Make  'em  laugh ;  make  'em  weep ;  | 

make  'em  zemit,"  said  Wilkie  Collins.     To  pro-  j 

yoke  and  arouse  the  interest  of  an  audience  be- 
cause of  the  problem  presented  by  a  situation 
and  then  dexterously  to  make  them  wait  for 
the  solution  thereof  is  to  create  a  condition  of 
suspense.  To  make  one  wait  when  one  is  eager- 
ly desirous  of  seeing  what  is  to  follow  or  of  see- 
ing what  the  next  situation  or  problem  is  to  be, 
is  a  most  effective  measure  of  blending  the  plot 
elements  for  the  assembled  group.  In  ever 
keeping  in  mind  what  the  present  situation  may 
possibly  bring  forth  in  the  future,  the  audience 
thereby  associates  the  one  point  with  the  other 


Middle  of  the  One- Act  Play     181 

and  therefore  blends  the  two  together.  Because 
suspense  is  a  stirring  of  present  interest  coupled 
with  a  strong  sense  that  a  climactic  situation  or 
incident  is  approaching,  the  nature  of  which 
one  strongly  wishes  to  learn,  it  is,  accordingly, 
a  most  effective  means  of  blending. 

The  playwright  must  not  confuse  suspense 
with  surprise.  Mere  surprise  is,  on  the  whole, 
to  be  avoided  in  dramatic  work.  Surprise  is 
that  which  is  wholly  accidental,  and  entirely 
unlooked  for;  it  happens  without  any  warning 
or  without  any  apparent  cause.  There  can  be 
no  interest  in  anything  that  one  does  not  know 
is  going  to  happen ;  and  since  one  does  not 
know  that  it  is  going  to  happen,  one  cannot 
possibly  be  interested  in  its  possible  outcome — 
there  can  be  no  sense  of  suspense.  Suspense  is 
expectancy  mingled  with  uncertainty :  one  does 
not  know  the  exact  outcome  but  is  sure  that 
one  kind  of  result  or  another  will  ultimately  ac- 
crue. From  this  it  must  not  be  concluded  that 
surprise  is  never  an  element  in  plot  develop- 
ment. On  the  contrary,  plausible  accident  and 
surprise  often  is.  John  Millington  Synge's 
"The  Playboy  of  the  Western  World"  (a  three- 
act  play)  makes  effective  use  thereof.  The 
point  contended  for  here  is  that  suspense  does 
not  depend  upon  surprise,  nor  are  they  identical. 

Suspense  obtains  only  when  the  audience 
wonders  what  the  outcome  will  be  and  when  it 


182  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

is  eagerly  desirous  of  knowing  the  result,  and 
when,  at  the  same  time,  the  dramatist  stimulates 
this  sense  of  eagerness  by  keeping  the  result 
from  the  assembled  group  but  at  the  same  time 
gives  them  every  hint  and  encouragement  that 
all  will  result,  at  some  time  or  other,  in  some 
interesting  way.  He  does  not  tell  all  of  his 
plot  in  advance,  nor  too  much  at  any  one  time. 
Instead,  here  he  reveals  a  motive,  there  he  lets 
slip  a  bit  of  information,  and  somewhere  else 
along  the  line  he  puts  in  a  sign,  a  sort  of  finger- 
post, which  hints  at  a  possible  outcome.  He 
foreshadows  but  does  not  forestall  or  foretell. 
Suspense  is  a  reaching  out,  a  stretching  for- 
ward of  the  mind  to  something  often  a  bit  vague 
but  none  the  less  imminent. 

A  second  factor  that  aids  very  materially 
in  the  matter  of  blending,  is  what  is  conven- 
tionally known  as  preparation.  It  is  one  of 
the  obligations  of  a  playwright  that  he  gradu- 
ally prepare  an  audience  for  the  crucial  situa- 
tion. A  novice  in  play-building  often  gives 
away  his  whole  point  or  whole  effect  all  at  once 
without  any  preparation  for  the  shock ;  whereas 
this  more  effective  way  is  to  unfold  all  more  or 
less  gradually.  His  structural  problem  is  to 
reveal  his  plot  development  step  by  step,  not 
too  fast  nor  too  slow ;  he  must  reach  his  height 
by  subtle  revelations  of  motive,  of  personality. 


Middle  of  the  One- Act  Play     183 

of  probable  action,  of  probable  outcome,  all  of 
which  stand  out  as  marks  of  progress  along  the 
path  of  dramatic  movement. 

As  one  analyzes  the  progressive  action  of 
Lord  Dunsany's  "The  Lost  Silk  Hat"  there  is 
growing  evidence  that,  in  all  probability,  the 
Caller  himself  will  have  to  go  back  upstairs  and 
get  his  hat.  In  the  end,  he  does  go  after  it; 
and  adequate  preparation  has  been  made  for 
the  acceptance  of  just  this  result.  In  Richard 
Harding  Davis's  "Blackmail"  there  are  some 
eight  or  ten  times  during  the  movement  of  the 
play  that  it  is  suggested,  hinted,  or  revealed 
that  Richard  Fallon  intends  to  kill  Louis  Mo- 
hun.  Just  how  he  will  do  it  or  whether  he  will 
succeed  is  a  source  of  interest  and  suspense. 
So  carefully  has  the  author  of  the  play  pro- 
voked dislike  for  the  cruel  and  inhuman  Mohun 
and  so  deftly  has  he  prepared  one  for  the  kill- 
ing that  one  unconsciously  justifies  it  when  it 
occurs.  In  August  Strindberg's  "The  Strong- 
er," a  One-act  play  in  wliich  but  one  character 
speaks  though  two  are  present,  it  is  revealed 
step  by  step  that  Mme.  X,  a  married  actress, 
and  Mile.  Y,  an  unmarried  actress,  instead  of 
being  friends,  are  really  sullen  enemies — Mile. 
F  is  a  thorn  in  the  flesh  of  Mme.  X,  who  has 
married  the  suitor  of  Mlh.  Y.  So  effective  is 
the  preparation  that  when  Mme.  X  bursts  forth 
in  hate  and  anger  at  the  close,  one  is  prepared 


184  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

for  just  such  an  outcome.  It  is  one  of  the 
dicta  of  good  dramaturgy  that  a  playwright 
should  not  give  the  full  brunt  of  his  story  to 
the  audience  in  a  single  shot,  but  that  he  should 
gradually  prepare  them  for  an  outcome  so  that 
when  it  does  appear,  even  though  its  exact 
nature  be  a  bit  unlooked  for,  it  will  be  gladly 
and  readily  accepted.  Skilful  preparation  is 
a  distinctive  aid  to  suspense,  and,  accordingly, 
a  structural  factor  in  blending. 

The  amate,ur,  and  the  professional  as  well, 
must  take  care  not  to  make  his  preparation  too 
obvious.  If  he  does,  he  anticipates  the  out- 
come; he  will  have  given  away  the  point  of  the 
story,  and  then  there  is  no  need  to  tell  it. 
From  the  point  of  view  of  art,  also,  it  is  not 
good  taste  to  let  the  elbows  of  the  mechanics 
protrude.  The  big  problem  in  preparation,  and 
likewise  in  suspense,  lies  in  knowing  just  mhat 
to  disclose  and  when  to  disclose  it, — and  what 
not  and  when  not.  Only  a  subtle  sense  of  crisis, 
of  situation, of  climactic  action, and  of  dramatic 
interest  and  suspense,  will  make  a  writer  sure  of 
liimself  in  this  respect.  In  any  case,  the  play- 
wright should  see  to  it  that  his  preparation  is 
not  too  big  and  too  promising  with  a  wholly  in- 
adequate result ;  nor  should  there  be  too  little 
and  too  insignificant  preparation  for  a  vital  and 
important  result.  Preparation  is  a  study  in 
dramatic  and  structural  proportion. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE    END   OF    THE    ONE-ACT  PLAY 

The  Steuctuue  and  Nature  of  the  End 

If  the  inter-play  of  dramatic  forces,  the 
premises  of  which  were  set  forth  in  the  Begin- 
ning, has  been  adequately  and  logically  de- 
veloped through  the  Middle  of  the  One-act  play, 
the  crucial  moment  thereof  has  been  made  clear 
to  the  assembled  group.  The  audience  knows 
that,  so  far  as  plot-action  and  movement  are 
concerned,  the  play  has  come  to  a  halt;  there 
is  no  further  inter-play  of  plot  forces.  From 
the  point  of  view  of  a  series  of  crises  ending 
in  a  vital  moment  the  play  is  complete;  but 
from  the  point  of  view  of  structure,  of  psychol- 
ogy, and  of  art,  the  play  is  not  complete.  It  is 
not  yet  rounded  out  into  a  consistent  and 
artistic  unit.  If  the  dramatist  wishes  his  play 
to  be  a  finished  work  of  art,  he  has  yet  to  con- 
sider the  problem  of  the  End. 

The  dictum  that  a  One-act  play  shall  have 
an  End  is  not  an  arbitrary  one,  it  is  not  an  in- 
vention of  pedantic  critics ;  in  fact,  it  is  but  the 
result  of  deference  to  the  psychological  work- 

185 


186  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

ing  and  longing  of  the  human  mind  and  heart. 
If,  in  a  vital  contest  of  any  kind,  one  person  is 
defeated  by  another,  every  one  is  eager  to  see 
how  he  tahes  his  defeat.  If,  in  the  struggle  of 
life,  one  man  emerges  victorious,  the  public 
likes  to  observe  him  in  the  new  role  of  victor. 
Indeed,  the  public,  not  infrequently,  is  more  in- 
terested in  him  in  his  new  relations  than  it  is  in 
the  crucial  test  out  of  which  he  comes  forth 
triumphant.  If  some  person  of  note  and  promi- 
nence is  proved  to  be  a  thief  or  a  malefactor, 
interest  does  not  lie  so  much  in  the  proving  as 
in  the  demeanor  of  the  culprit  after  the  proof 
has  been  made  clear.  If  a  man,  who  has  played 
the  game  of  life  unfairly,  loses  in  a  crucial  test, 
one  likes  to  see  his  reaction  subsequent  to  his 
defeat.  If  the  love  and  affection  of  a  good 
woman  has  been  trilled  with  and  held  too  lightly 
by  her  lover,  as  in  Alfred  Sutro's  "The  Correct 
Thing,"  and  she  finally  discovers  it,  interest  in 
her  case  does  not  lie  so  much  in  the  actual  dis- 
covery but  in  her  attitude  toward  the  discovery 
and  in  her  conduct  toward  her  lover  who  now 
appears  to  her  in  a  new  relation.  If  an  ani- 
mated woman  is  seduced  by  a  man  whose  per- 
sonality is  stronger  than  her  own,  as  in  August 
Strindberg's  "Countess  Julie,"  the  interest  is 
not  so  much  in  the  actual  seduction  as  in  the 
emotional  reaction  of  the  woman  thereafter. 
If  an  unhappy  woman  comes  to  a  realization  of 


The  End  of  the  One-Act  Play     187 

what  real  happiness  is,  as  in  J.  Hartley  Man- 
ners' "Ha}ipiness,"  one  is  eager  to  observe  her 
in  the  light  of  her  new  conception.  Human  na- 
ture is  frequently  less  concerned  with  the  cru- 
cial moment  itself  than  it  is  with  what  im- 
mediately results  therefrom.  The  presentation 
of  this  result  is  the  function  of  the  End.  Its 
existence  as  an  organic  and  structural  part  of 
a  play  is  demanded  by  the  psychology  of  the 
human  mind  and  the  desires  of  the  human  heart. 

From  the  point  of  view  of  art,  the  play  must 
end  when  the  story  is  complete ;  and  very  often 
it  is  not  complete  until  one  knows  what  has 
happened  immediately  after  the  crucial  mo- 
ment. So  far  as  plot  development  is  concerned, 
all  is  known  to  the  audience  when  the  crucial 
moment  is  reached ;  but  instinctively  it  also 
wants  to  know  what  the  final  emotional  reaction 
is.  The  significant  aftermath  shows  how  the 
characters  are  taking  the  result  of  the  inter- 
play of  forces.  The  End  is  the  after-conse- 
quences ;  it  is  the  reaction  upon  the  vital  mo- 
ment. After  the  outcome  has  been  made  sure, 
it  must,  for  the  audience  at  least,  still  be 
brought  to  pass ;  the  emotional  reaction  of  the 
characters  must  be  made  clear  in  concrete  ob- 
jective action. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  as  one  studies  and  ob- 
serves the  effect  of  One-act  plays  upon  an  as- 
sembled group,  it  not  infrequently  happens  that 


188  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

the  situation,  the  dramatic  picture,  the  emo- 
tional reaction  immediately  following  the 
crucial  moment,  is  far  more  moving  to  the  au- 
dience than  is  the  crucial  moment  itself.  Usual- 
ly this  vital  point  is  more  tense  and  more  dy- 
namically exciting,  but  the  End  is  often  more 
moving  because  it  reveals  the  personalities  of 
the  characters  when  they  unburden  their  emo- 
tions with  complete  abandon.  It  is  in  the  End 
that  the  full  significance  of  the  crucial  moment 
is  revealed  in  a  flash.  The  experience  of  human 
life  is  that  it  is  not  the  catastrophe  which  is  so 
moving,  but  that  which  immediately  follows 
when  one  recognizes  the  full  significance  of  the 
catastrophe.  The  after-effect,  the  sudden  re- 
adjustment, the  recognition  of  the  seriousness 
of  a  crucial  moment,  is  frequently  the  thing 
that  stirs  the  emotions  profoundly.  It  is  be- 
cause of  this  that  the  End  of  such  plays  as  Mary 
Aldis's  "Extreme  Unction,"  Lewis  Beach's  "The 
Clod,"  J.  Hartley  Manners'  "The  Day  of 
Dupes,"  and  Fenn  and  Price's  "  'Op-o'-Me- 
Thumb,"  are  much  more  moving  and  rich  in 
emotional  values  than  their  crucial  moments. 
From  a  structural  point  of  view  the  End  is 
always  complemental  to  the  plot  and  particular- 
ly to  the  crucial  moment.  If  the  final  situation 
discloses  that  a  change  in  relation  between  char- 
acters has  taken  place,  the  dramatist  must  show 
that  the  relations  have  changed;  if  it  reveals 


The  End  of  the  One- Act  Play    189 

the  inner  personality  of  some  character,  that 
character  must  be  shown  in  the  Hght  of  his 
elemental  traits.  If  a  crucial  test  has  made 
some  character  dejected,  he  must  be  shown  as 
being  dejected;  and  if  it  has  taken  the  very  Hfe 
hope  out  of  some  one  and  made  him  deeply  un- 
happy, the  unhappiness  must  be  made  manifest. 
Without  the  End,  a  One-act  play  would  not  be 
a  complete  unit.  From  a  structural  and  a 
psychological  point  of  view,  the  End  is  an  es- 
sential and  organic  part  of  the  play. 

The  playwright  must  keep  in  mind  that  in 
the  One-act  form  there  is  little  or  no  "falling 
action"  as  is  often  found  in  longer  plays ;  there 
is  a  decisive  moment  and  its  immediate  sequel, 
— the  immediate  emotional  reaction.  Accord- 
ingly, since  the  End  is  an  immediate  sequel,  its 
nature  varies  with  every  theme  and  with  every 
plot :  a  serious  play  cannot  well  have  a  humor- 
ous ending,  and  vice  versa.  The  End  must  be 
logical  else  it  is  naught.  There  must  be  no  new 
note  nor  any  false  emphasis.  Since  the  End  is 
the  result  of  what  has  culminated  in  the  crucial 
moment,  it  must  emphasize  anew  the  dramatic 
note  of  the  wliole  play ;  if  it  does  not  do  this, 
attention  is  directed  to  matters  not  an  organic 
and  vital  clement  in  the  play.  Such  an  End  is 
found  in  J.  Hartley  Manners'  "Happiness," 
wherein  the  crucial  moment  comes  when  the 
blase  Mrs.  Chrystal-Pole  learns  from  a  work- 


190  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

a-day  girl,  Jenny,  that  happiness  is  just  "Look- 
in'  forward."  Mrs,  Chrystal-Pole  has  invited 
Jenny  and  her  mother  to  be  guests  at  dinner. 
The  play  closes — 

Mrs.  Chrystal-Pole:  (Presses  her  down  onto 
the  couch  into  a  comfortable  position,  then 
goes  to  Chundos.)  If  there  were  more  like  her, 
there  would  be  fewer  like  its. 

Chandos:  Why? 

Mrs.  Chrystal-Pole:  She's  a  real  human  be- 
ing.    She's  found  what  we've  never  known. 

Chandos :  Yes  ? 

Mrs.  Chrystal-Pole :  Happiness. 

Jenny:  (Nervously  locking  and  unlocking  her 
fingers,  a  worried  look  in  her  eyes,  a  tremor  run- 
ning through  her  thin  little  body,  murmurs  un- 
der her  breath)    I  wonder  if  mother  will  come? 

It  is  noteworthy  that  Jenny's  closing  speech, 
"I  wonder  if  mother  will  come?"  does  not  em- 
phasize the  theme  of  the  play,  is  not  a  sequel 
and  emotional  reaction  to  the  crucial  moment 
in  the  play,  but,  on  the  contrary,  directs  at- 
tention to  a  new  note  which  is  not  an  organic 
factor  in  the  plot.  A  similar  false  note,  and 
accordingly  a  bad  ending  for  a  play,  is  seen 
in  George  Middleton's  "Their  Wife."  When 
either  of  these  plays  is  seen  on  the  stage  there 
is  a  curious  unsatisfying  effect  at  the  close ; 
the  Ends  thereof  do  not  centre  attention  on  the 
vital  things  of  the  play ;  they  are  not  sequels 


The  End  of  the  One- Act  Play     191 

which  emphasize  the  reaction  upon  the  vital 
situations  of  their  plots. 

The  One-act  play,  when  well  wrought  out, 
must  end  and  not  merely  close.  Only  a  few 
moments  are  at  the  disposal  of  the  dramatist, 
and  he  must  make  the  most  of  them.  Nothing 
must  be  left  to  be  explained  further :  there  must 
be  no  dangling  loose  ends ;  the  End  must  be 
final  and  complete.  It  must  give  the  effect  that 
the  play  not  only  has  stopped  but  also  has 
really  finished.  It  should  give  a  sense  of 
rounded-out  completeness ;  it  should  not  leave 
a  restless  and  dissatisfying  after-feeling  of 
something  left  incomplete.  The  more  direct, 
the  more  brief,  the  more  connotative  the  End, 
the  more  eflPective  it  usually  is.  The  End  is 
the  jinal  enforcement  of  the  single  eflTect ;  it  sup- 
plements and  closes  the  effect  of  the  crucial 
m^oment. 

The  playwright  must  conceive  the  End  of  his 
play  as  a  distinctive  structural  problem. 
While  it  is  quite  as  much  an  organic  part  of  a 
plot  as  is  the  Beginning  and  the  Middle,  like 
them,  it  needs  to  be  dealt  with  as  something  of 
an  individual  unit.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is 
very  closely  interwoven  with  the  final  crisis  of 
the  plot  movement :  one  may  well  imagine,  in 
given  cases,  something  of  a  slight  halting  of 
progress  between  the  Beginning  and  the  Mid- 
dle, but  no  such  condition  may  obtain  in  the 


192  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

connection  between  the  Middle  and  the  End. 
The  two  are  very  closely  and  organically  inter- 
locked; the  one  is  the  complement  and  fulfil- 
ment of  the  other.  Only  when  the  dramatist 
constructs  his  End  in  the  full  light  of  the  cru- 
cial moment  and  its  vital  significance  can  he 
hope  to  achieve  the  most  effective  results. 

It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  the  End  is 
probably  the  most  important  and,  at  the  same 
time,  the  most  artificial  aspect  of  the  One-act 
play.  Critics  are  generally  agreed  that  the 
ending,  more  often  than  any  other  part  of  the 
finished  product,  makes  or  mars  the  play.  If 
well  done,  it  is  a  technical  triumph;  if  ill  done, 
it  brands  the  dramatist  as  a  novice.  Moreover, 
the  author  is  obliged  to  make  his  ending.  In 
actual  life  there  are  no  very  ends ;  hence  the 
playwright  must  construct  one  that  is  logical 
and  satisfying.  Life  exhibits  a  continuous  se- 
quence of  causation  stretching  on  and  on ;  and, 
since  a  play  must  have  an  end,  its  conclusion 
must,  in  any  case,  belie  a  law  of  nature.  But 
art  is  not  nature ;  and  this  is  a  precept  that 
the  playwright  must  keep  in  mind  when  he  sets 
himself  to  the  task  of  constructing  the  End. 
"Real  life,"  says  Sarcey,  "has  no  denouements. 
Nothing  in  it  ends,  because  nothing  in  it 
begins.  Everything  continues.  Everything 
happening  reaches  back  at  one  end  with  a  series 
of  facts  which  preceded  it,  and  passes  on  at 


The  End  of  the  One- Act  Play    193 

the  other  end  to  lose  itself  in  the  series  of  facts 
which  follow.  The  two  extremes  fade  into  the 
shadows  and  escape  us.  In  the  theatre  one 
must  cut  at  some  definite  point  this  uninter- 
rupted stream  of  life,  stop  it  at  some  accident 
dib  rivage.'"'  "Any  end,  therefore,"  says  Clay- 
ton Hamilton,  "to  a  novel  or  a  play,  must  be 
in  the  nature  of  an  artifice ;  and  an  ending  must 
be  planned  not  in  accordance  with  life,  which 
is  lawless  and  illogical,  but  in  accordance  with 
art,  where  soul  is  harmony."  The  dramatist 
should  not  be  careless  or  hasty  in  handling  the 
End  of  his  play:  a  single  false  note  will  spoil 
the  whole  art  product. 

How  TO  End  a  Plat 

\Miatever  else  the  End  of  the  One-act  play 
must  be,  it  should  not  be  unemphatic  as  are  a 
number  of  the  endings  of  George  Middleton's 
plays.  In  the  three-act  play,  nowadays,  one 
is  sometimes  willing  that  it  may  not  end  in  a 
strong  tableau  or  with  an  emphatic  mot  de  la 
fn.  Such  an  ending,  however,  does  not  give 
that  direct,  complete,  and  definite  effect  that 
the  human  mind  desires  when  the  play  comes  to 
a  close.  A  good  play  gives  the  feeling  that  it 
is  fundamentally  about  something;  and  the  End 
is  the  place  where  this  can  be  most  effectively 
emphasized.     Tlie  three-act  play  may  have  an 


194  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

unemphatic  ending,  but  in  the  One-act  form 
this  is  scarcely  conducive  to  good  dramatic 
effect.  A  weak  ending  is  a  very  dangerous  and 
often  fatal  fault.  Unemphatic  endings  such  as 
in  J.  Hartley  Manners'  "Happiness"  and 
George  Middleton's  "Their  Wife"  not  only  fail 
to  emphasize  the  central  emotional  value  of  the 
play  but  fail  to  emphasize  anything  at  all  that 
is  organically  essential  to  the  plot. 

There  is  no  one  best  way  of  ending  a  play, — 
except  that  it  should  be  short  and  to  the  point. 
The  method  of  ending  is  determined  largely  by 
the  nature  of  the  plot-action  and  particularly 
by  the  crucial  moment  with  which  it  has  so 
close  relation.  Sometimes  a  play  may  stop 
abruptly :  crucial  moment  and  End  may  be 
merged  into  one,  as  in  such  plays  as  August 
Strindberg's  "Pariah"  and  "Countess  Julie." 
This  method,  however,  is  not  very  frequently 
used  in  current  practice.  In  other  cases,  a  few 
bits  of  a  significant  dialogue  will  reveal  all  and 
sum  up  the  reaction.  Again,  a  bit  of  significant 
pantomimic  action  and  stage-business  is  most 
effective.  And  frequently  a  single  bit  of  telling 
dialogue  accompanied  by  highly  interpretative 
pantomimic  action  carries  the  dramatic  value  of 
the  play  to  the  assembled  group. 

Lord  Dunsany  has  ended  his  "The  Lost  Silk 
Hat"  in  a  most  effective  manner  by  using  just 
two  speeches  after  the  crucial  moment  has  been 


The  End  of  the  One- Act  Play     195 

expressed  in  the  Poefs  "My  God!  It  is  a 
duet." 

(Servant  answers  bell,  Caller  says  some- 
thing inaudible.    Exit  through  door.) 

Poet:  (rising,  lifting  hand)  But  let  there 
be  graven  in  brass  upon  this  house:  Romance 
was  born  again  here  out  of  due  time  and  died 
young.     (He  sits  down.) 

(Enter  Laborer  and  Clerk  with  Policeman. 
The  music  stops.) 

Policeman:     Anything  wrong  here? 

Poet:  Everything's  wrong.  They're  going 
to  kill  Romance. 

Policeman:  (To  Labourer)  This  gentleman 
doesn't  seem  quite  right  somehow. 

Laborer:  They're  none  of  them  quite  right 
to-day.      (Music   starts   again.) 

Poet :     My  God !     It  is  a  duet. 

Policeman:     He  seems  a  bit  wrong,  somehow. 

Laborer:     You  should  'a  seen  the  other  one. 

It  is  to  be  noted  that  these  two  bits  of  dia- 
logue are  direct  reactions  upon  the  crucial 
moment  and  tliat  they  also  emphasize  a  domi- 
nant note  and  an  important  character  in  the 
play  as  a  whole.  INIorcovcr,  they  state  pretty 
much  what  the  audience  itself  has  thought  and 
felt  as  it  has  observed  the  passing  of  the  events 
of  the  plot. 

Another  very  effective  ending,  composed 
largely    of    significant    dialogue,    is    that    of 


196  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

William  Butler  Yeats's  "Cathleen  ni  Hoolihan." 
The  inter-play  of  forces  of  the  plot  {MichaeVs 
love  for  Delia  and  his  devotion  to  Ireland) 
comes  to  a  decisive  end  when  ''Michael  breaks 
away  from  Delia  and  goes  out."  The  reason 
for  his  decision  is  most  effectively  emphasized 
in  the  two  speeches  which  close  the  play. 

Delia:  Michael,  Michael,  you  won't  leave 
me!  You  won't  join  the  French  and  we  going 
to  be  married  to-morrow!  (She  puts  her  arms 
about  him.  He  turns  to  her  as  if  about  to 
yield.) 

Old  Woman's  voice  outside — 

They  shall  be  remembered  for  ever; 

The  people  shall  hear  them  for  ever. 

Michael:  (breaks  away  from  Delia  and  goes 
out.) 

Bridget:  (laying  her  hand  on  Patrick's  arm) 
Did  you  see  an  old  woman  going  down  the  path? 

Patrick:  I  did  not,  but  I  saw  a  young  girl 
and  she  had  the  walk  of  a  queen. 

On  the  Stage,  this  End  is  one  of  the  most 
effective  among  current  One-act  plays. 

Richard  Harding  Davis's  "Blackmail"  is  an 
apt  illustration  of  an  ending  composed  wholly 
of  stage-business  and  pantomime.  The  climac- 
tic speech  is  Kelly's  "Of  course,  in  self-defence, 
you  fool,  of  course,  in  self-defence." 

Kelly:  (To  'phone)  Some  crank  tried  to 
shoot  him  up.     Mr.  Fallon  fired  back  and  killed 


The  End  of  the  One- Act  Play    197 

him,  (Pause.)  No!  Mr.  Fallon  killed  him  I 
(Pause.)  Of  course,  in  self-defence,  you  fool, 
of  course,  in  self-defence ! 

Kelly  slams  back  the  receiver,  and  rising 
quickly,  turns  to  the  right  and  stands  with 
hands  on  his  hips,  and  back  to  audience,  gazing 
down  at  Mohun.  He  does  not  once  look  at 
Fallo7i. 

Fallon:  (On  hearing  the  words  "in  self-de- 
fence" sighs,  smiles  and,  striking  the  match, 
lights  the  cigar  as 

The  Curtain  Falls. 
Careful  analysis  of  this  End  will  show  that  the 
pantomimic  action  and  stage-business  given  to 
both  Kelli/  and  Fallon  reveal  their  individual 
reactions  upon  the  crucial  moment. 

Lewis  Beach's  "The  Clod,"  whose  decisive  end 
is  full  of  action  and  whose  plot  contains  two 
closely  interwoven  elements  (the  character 
thesis  of  the  wife,  Mary,  and  the  story  plot  of  a 
Northern  soldier-spy's  escape  from  Confederate 
pursuers)  is  very  aptly  ended  by  significant 
pantomime  and  a  single  speech  on  the  part  of 
Mary. 

Sergeant:  (bellowing  and  pointing  to  the  fluid 
trickling  on  the  floor)  Have  you  tried  to  poison 
us,  you  God  damn  hag.''  {Mary  screams,  and 
the  faces  of  the  men  turn  white.  It  is  like  the 
cry  of  the  animal  goaded  beyond  endurance.) 

Mary:     (screeching)      Call    my    coffee    poi- 


198  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

son,  will  ye?  Call  me  a  hag?  I'll  learn  ye! 
I'm  a  woman,  and  ye're  drivin'  me  crazy. 
(Snatches  the  gun  from  the  wall,  points  it  at 
the  Sergeant,  and  fires.  Keeps  on  screeching. 
The  Sergeant  falls  to  the  floor.  Dick  rushes 
for  his  gun.) 

Thaddeus:     Mary !     Mary ! 

Mary:  (aiming  at  Dick,  and  firing)  I  ain't 
a  hag.     I'm  a  woman,  but  ye're  killin'  me. 

{Dick  falls  just  as  he  reaches  his  gun. 
Thaddeus  is  in  the  corner  with  his  hands  over 
his  ears.  The  Northerner  stands  on  the  stairs. 
Mary  continues  to  pull  the  trigger  of  the  empty 
gun.  The  Northerner  is  motionless  for  a 
moment;  then  he  goes  to  Thaddeus  and  shakes 
him.) 

Northerner:  Go  get  my  horse,  quick ! 
{Thaddeus  obeys.  The  Northerner  turns  to 
Mary.  She  gazes  at  him,  but  does  not  under- 
stand a  word  he  says.) 

Northerner:  (with  great  fervor)  I'm 
ashamed  of  what  I  said.  The  whole  country 
will  hear  of  this,  and  you.  (Takes  her  hand, 
and  presses  it  to  his  lips ;  then  turns  and  hurries 
out  of  the  house.  Mary  still  holds  the  gun  in 
her  hand.  She  pushes  a  strand  of  grey  hair 
back  from  her  face,  and  begins  to  pick  up  the 
fragments  of  the  broken  coffee  cup.) 

Mary:     (in  dead,   flat   tone)      I'll  have   to 


The  End  of  the  One- Act  Play     199 

drink  out  of  the  tin  cup  now.     (The  hoof-beats 
of  the  Northerner's  horse  are  heard.) 

Curtain. 
The  pantomime  business  of  the  soldier  empha- 
sizes the  fact  that  he  has  escaped,  while  the 
stage-business  at  the  close  makes  this  still  more 
certain ;  and  the  final  speech  of  Mary  is  an  ex- 
pression of  emotional  reaction  on  the  vital  hap- 
penings of  the  plot.  This  dual  aspect  of  this 
End  complements  the  dual  aspect  of  the  crucial 
moment  which  is  the  result  of  two  closely  inter- 
woven plot  elements.  From  a  technical  point 
of  view,  Mr.  Beach  has  been  equal  to  the  task 
imposed  upon  him  by  the  nature  of  his  play. 

Whatever  the  nature  of  the  End  of  the  One- 
act  dramatic  form,  the  closing  speech  is  a  very 
important  matter.  The  success  of  the  play 
often  depends  almost  wholly  on  this  final  bit  of 
dialogue.  It  is  the  thing  which  rounds  off 
the  whole  dramatic  action  and  gives  a  satisfy- 
ing sense  of  finality  to  the  completed  work. 
Often  the  line  is  strongly  emotional ;  sometimes 
it  expresses  with  complete  abandon  the  feelings 
of  the  character  who  has  been  most  strongly 
affected  by  the  decisive  moment.  The  closing 
speeches  in  Alfred  Sutro's  "The  Correct 
Thing,"  Percival  Wilde's  "The  Finger  of  God," 
and  George  Middleton's  "The  Cheat  of  Pity" 
are  examples.  In  some  cases,  the  final  line  is 
strong  in  its  revelation  of  character.     In  Lewis 


200  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

Beach's  "The  Clod,"  Mary,  "in  dead,  flat  toiie," 
says,  "I'll  have  to  drink  out  of  the  tin  cup 
now."  The  village  attorney  at  the  close  of  the 
play,  "The  Village  Lawyer,"  as  he  sees  the 
money,  which  he  had  saved  bit  by  bit  to  buy 
himself  a  clarinet,  disappear  with  the  poor 
woman  whom  he  had  befriended,  says,  "Maybe 
I  couldn't  play  the  darned  thing  anyway." 
Again  the  closing  speech  may  emphasize  an 
observation  of  life  as  exemplified  in  the  play. 
Sir  James  M.  Barrie's  "The  Will"  closes  thus, 
— "Philip  (summing  up  his  life):  It  can't  be 
done  with  money,  sir."  Arthur  Schnitzler 
closes  his  "Dying  Pangs"  (Anatol  play)  thus, — 
"Anatol:  She  asked  for  that  kiss,  and  it  makes 
her  another  cheap  woman  at  last — (then  to 
himself  in  the  glass)  And  you're  a  fool — a 
fool !"  The  final  line  may  be  the  out-pouring 
of  a  human  soul  in  the  light  of  its  bitter  experi- 
ences. Thus  Alfred  Sutro's  "The  Man  on  the 
Curb"  closes, — "Joe  (staggering  forward  with 
a  sudden)  God,  Oh  God,  give  us  bread!" 
J.  Hartley  Manners'  "The  Day  of  Dupes" 
ends, — "(The  Dupe  turns  away  from  the  win- 
dow and  looking  upwards  in  an  attitude  of 
prayer,  she  pleads)  Oh,  Thou — Thou  who  once 
forgave  the  Magdalene, — I  come  to  You — even 
as  she  did — covered  in  sin,  an  outcast  of  man- 
kind, despised  of  women.  I  come  to  You  to 
pray    You    to    help    me    to    walk    alone !"     In 


The  End  of  the  One- Act  Play    201 

comedy,  usually  the  final  line  gives  rise  to  a 
good  laugh,  as  in  Edgar  Allan  Woolf's  "The 
Lollard," — "Miss  Carey  (going  to  put  out 
light):  Now,  Thank  Gawd,  I'll  get  a  little 
sleep."  The  closing  speech  of  the  One-act 
play  is  one  of  the  most  important  details  of 
construction ;  the  effective  handling  of  this  line 
often  differentiates  the  expert  from  the  novice. 
A  final  injunction  to  the  playwright  is,  look 
well  to  your  closing  speech! 


CHAPTER  IX 

DRAMATIC   CHARACTERIZATION 
The  Elements  of  Dramatic  Character 

It  is  pretty  well  agreed  that,  in  the  One-act 
play,  plot  comes  first  and  character  second. 
Once  the  playwright  has  selected  his  theme,  and 
has  determined  what  emotional  response  he 
wishes  to  provoke  in  his  audience,  the  next  step 
is  the  matter  of  its  development  and  exemplifi- 
cation. Incident,  character,  dialogue,  stage- 
business,  and  stage-setting,  are  the  factors 
whereby  a  dramatic  theme  may  be  put  into  con- 
crete form  and  presented  on  the  stage ;  each 
factor  plays  its  part  in  the  evolution  of  the 
plot,  each  one  contributes  its  part  to  the  bring- 
ing-out  of  the  singleness  of  effect.  Among 
these  factors,  character  is,  no  doubt,  the  strong- 
est motive  force  in  dramatic  action ;  without  it 
there  could  be  no  plot.  Even  if  some  critics 
are  inclined  to  place  plot  first  and  character 
second,  the  dramatist  must  not  conclude  that 
the  matter  of  characterization  in  the  One-act 
play  is  not  important.  On  the  contrary,  much 
of  the  dramatic  value  of  the  plot  is  directly 

202 


Dramatic  Characterization    203 

dependent  on  character;  without  dramatic 
character  in  the  play  there  is  little  hope  for  its 
success. 

Drama  is  action.  And,  since  character  is 
the  most  important  motive  force  in  plot  evolu- 
tion, it  follows  that  a  personality  in  a  drama 
must  be  dynamic  and  not  static,  vital,  and 
not  insipid.  A  good  dramatic  character  is  one 
that  is  kinetic:  it  is  strongly  responsive  to 
stimuli,  and  has  large  powers  of  emotional 
functioning.  Moreover,  whatever  a  dramatic 
character  comes  into  contact  with — character, 
incident,  situation, — the  character  affects  it  in 
one  way  or  another  and  is,  in  turn,  itself  af- 
fected ;  nothing  remains  as  it  was,  there  is  con- 
stant progressive  change.  Character  that  is 
suitable  for  play  purposes  is  emotional  rather 
than  highly  intellectual ;  responsive  rather  than 
apathetic ;  vigorous  in  personality,  rather  than 
retiring.  Its  potential  reserve  is  large;  and 
it  is  ever  motivated  by  its  inherent  human 
tendencies. 

On  the  other  hand,  not  all  of  the  dramatis 
persona  of  a  play  are  dramatic  in  the  strict 
sense  of  the  term,  nor  is  any  one  character 
completely  dramatic  at  all  times  in  the  course 
of  the  plot  evolution.  Supernumeraries  are 
seldom  highly  personalized  and  are  seldom  dra- 
matic. Frequently  they  are  only  contrivances 
to  forward  the  plot ;  sometimes  they  are  foils 


204  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

to  characters  who  are  potentially  dramatic  ;  and 
again  they  are  used  to  fill  up  the  details  of  the 
stage  picture.  Indeed,  it  not  infrequently 
happens  that  even  a  major  character  is  but  a 
foil  to  another  major  character  who  is  the 
centre  of  the  dramatic  movement.  Further- 
more, since  the  essence  of  any  One-act  play  is 
a  series  of  minor  crises  leading  to  a  crucial 
moment,  it  follows  that  the  characters  func- 
tion most  strongly  in  these  crises.  In  trivial 
moments  men  and  women  act  pretty  much  alike ; 
but  in  vital  crises  they  are  individualized  and 
differentiated  by  the  varying  degrees  of  inten- 
sity of  emotional  functioning  and  of  dramatic 
action.  It  is  in  these  crises  of  the  play  that 
character  is  most  strongly  dramatic. 

Not  only  must  a  character  of  a  play  be 
dynamic  in  its  possibilities,  but  its  emotional 
functioning  also  must  be  of  such  nature  as 
can  be  revealed  and  expressed  in  objective  and 
concrete  action.  Personality  must  be  revealed, 
not  merely  talked  about.  On  the  stage,  char- 
acter must  be  seen ;  it  is  ever  manifested  through 
behavior  and  conduct ;  each  personality  is  pre- 
sented through  its  outward  expression  of  its 
inner  emotional  functioning.  The  playwright 
must  create  characters  that  can  be  acted;  for 
play  purposes,  only  external  manifestations  of 
character  can  be  used.  Experience  has  shown 
that  the  deep  and  profound  psychological  and 


Dramatic  Chaeacterization    205 

subjective  functionings  can  not  be  well  revealed 
in  objective  concrete  action.  Every  character 
on  the  stage  must  be  a  concrete  exemplification 
of  his  own  personality ;  no  one  else  can  speak  for 
him.  If  he  is  shrewd  and  clever,  the  playwright 
must  show  him  to  be  so  in  the  sight  of  every- 
body. If  he  is  quick-tempered,  he  must  "fly 
ofF  the  handle";  if  he  is  vain,  he  must  respond 
to  flattery;  and  if  he  is  treacherous,  he  must 
be  shown  in  the  act  of  betraying  a  trust  or  a 
friend.  If  he  is  a  henpecked  husband,  he  must 
meekly  submit  to  tlie  chastenings  of  his  shrew- 
ish wife ;  if  he  is  courageous,  he  must  face  an 
issue  unflinchingly.  If  a  woman  has  a  high 
sense  of  virtue  and  honor,  she  must  be  seen  in 
the  moment  when  her  womanhood  resents  the 
idea  of  unchastity ;  if  another  is  scornful  of 
well-meant  attentions  and  treats  them  lightly, 
she  must  reveal  it  in  the  act  of  turning  her 
back  upon  an  admirer ;  if  a  wife  fears  her  hus- 
band, she  must  shrink  from  his  very  presence. 
Action  that  is  concrete  and  objective,  not 
words,  is  the  most  eff^ective  means  of  revealing 
personality  and  character.  On  the  stage,  as 
in  every-day  life,  seeing  is  believing. 

In  the  next  place,  a  dramatic  character  must 
be  worth  while ;  it  must  justify  its  existence  and 
must  merit  the  attention  of  the  audience.  Com- 
monplace characters  and  insipid  personalities 
are  not  sufficient  stimuli  to  arouse  the  interest 


206  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

of  the  spectator.  The  average  character  from 
every-day  life  is  so  familiar  and  is  of  so  little 
consequence  that  he  has  little  to  warrant  giving 
attention  to  him.  In  daily  activities,  persons 
who  are  not  worth  while  are  not  interesting 
and  their  acquantance  is  not  cultivated.  Only 
those  characters  who  give  insight  into  human 
nature  and  exemplify  it  are  worth  while ;  only 
these  merit  attention.  The  man  or  the  woman 
who  interests  the  public  is  not  the  person  of  no 
consequence.  On  the  contrary,  it  is  the  man 
or  woman  who  is  a  moving  factor  of  one  kind 
or  another  in  life's  activities ;  it  is  the  person 
who  is  virile  and  dynamic — the  one  who  has 
a  distinctive  personality. 

The  playwright  must  not  forget  that  the 
chief  essential  of  dramatic  character  is  a  dis- 
tinctive personality.  It  is  this  individual  vari- 
ation rather  than  fundamental  human  nature 
that  produces  the  immediate  interest  of  life. 
Only  when  a  character  is  strongly  possessed  of 
some  dominant  human  trait  does  he  have  per- 
sonality, does  he  stand  out  as  an  individual  and 
make  his  presence  seen  and  felt.  A  man  may 
be  strongly  bigoted  or  ardently  democratic ;  he 
may  have  an  open  and  wholesome  frankness,  or 
may  shrewdly  keep  his  own  counsel;  he  may  be 
generous  to  a  fault,  or  may  caustically  drive  a 
close  bargain.  If  the  character  is  a  woman, 
she  may  be  strongly  maternal  in  her  tendencies ; 


Dramatic  Characterization    207 

she  may  be  primitive  in  her  fondness  of  gaudy 
display;  or  she  may  be  sentimentally  romantic 
in  her  extremes  of  imagination.  She  may  be 
generous  and  wholesome  in  the  beauty  of  her 
womanhood,  or  she  may  be  shrewish  and  even 
vampire-like.  In  any  case,  in  order  that  it  may 
be  used  in  a  play,  a  character  must  be  possessed 
of  some  strong  human  tendency. 

Because  of  the  comparative  brevity  of  a  One- 
act  play,  a  character  therein  must  not  be  too 
complex  in  its  personality.  Usually  but  a 
single  dominant  trait  is  emphasized,  such  as 
vanity,  egotism,  devotion,  fidelity,  duplicity, 
generosity,  shrewdness,  sense  of  honor,  mater- 
nal tendencies,  or  what  not.  Characters  shown 
so  fleetingly  in  a  few  selected  moments  of  their 
whole  lives,  after  the  fashion  of  the  stage,  must 
be  seen  in  high  relief  and  in  rather  simplified 
form,  if  they  are  to  be  grasped  clearly  by  the 
assembled  group.  Ordinarily  it  is  the  domi- 
nant, the  decisive,  the  dynamic  trait  that  is 
shown ;  all  beyond  this  must  be  excluded  or 
merely  hinted  at  or  suggested.  Singleness  of 
impression  in  the  One-act  form  implies  some- 
thing of  a  singleness  of  effect  in  character ; 
non-essentials,  superfluities,  extraneous  ele- 
ments, must  be  eliminated.  The  playwright 
should  make  no  attempt  at  full  details  in  char- 
acterization;  he  should  select  the  pertinent  ele- 
ments only — or  even  one  clement  only.      If  the 


208  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

analysis  is  too  minute  and  the  qualities  too 
many  or  too  varied,  the  observer  may  become 
confused  in  the  maze  and  fail  to  grasp  the 
personality  of  the  character.  Clearness  and 
singleness  of  impression  demand  that  nothing 
but  the  essentials  be  brought  into  view  and 
emphasis  requires  that  these  essentials  shall  be 
made  the  most  of. 

Personality,  however,  is  by  no  means  so  sim- 
ple a  matter  as  it  may  seem;  indeed,  it  is  the 
result  or  sum-total  of  effect  of  a  number  of 
contributory  factors.  In  the  first  place,  every 
personality  must  be  fundamentally  human;  it 
must  act  and  function  emotionally  in  the  light 
of  basic  natural  impulses  and  instincts.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  stage  characters  are  more  prim- 
itive, more  elemental,  and  more  simplified  than 
characters  of  every-day  life ;  they  are  impelled 
to  action  by  the  generic  forces  of  human  nature, 
— ^love,  anger,  self-preservation,  sex  instinct, 
physical  comfort.  Love,  and  its  manifesta- 
tions of  pity  and  devotion,  is  found  among  rich 
and  poor,  learned  and  unlearned;  sex  instinct 
is  the  fundamental  motive  force  of  association 
in  almost  every  phase  of  human  life ;  and  self- 
preservation  will  impel  a  creature  to  go  to  the 
last  extremity.  In  the  second  place,  a  person- 
ality must  be  characterized  by  class  or  type. 
Men  differ  from  women  in  certain  essentials ; 
the  various  social  types  as  well  as  racial  types 


Dramatic  Characterization    209 

are  likewise  differentiated  in  their  tendencies; 
the  followers  of  creeds,  professions,  and  the 
like,  have  their  individual  traits.  Rich  and 
poor,  rural  and  urban,  learned  and  unlearned, 
professional  and  unprofessional;  Jew  and  Gen- 
tile, orthodox  and  unorthodox ;  Slav  and  Teu- 
ton, Latin  and  Greek,  Negro  and  White; 
Frenchman,  Russian,  Italian,  etc., — each  is  a 
distinct  class  or  type.  Brutality  is  a  char- 
acteristic of  ignorance,  and  vulgarity  of  the 
untutored ;  bigotry  is  often  characteristic  of 
extreme  orthodoxy,  and  inconsistency  of  unor- 
thodoxy;  aggressiveness  characterizes  the  Teu- 
ton, and  passion  the  Latin.  In  the  third  place, 
a  personality  is  individual  in  temperament  due, 
so  physiologists  and  psychologists  hold,  to  the 
prevailing  conditions  of  the  nervous  system. 
One  person  is  generous  in  his  love,  another  ef- 
fusive and  demonstrative,  and  a  third  is  quiet 
and  undemonstrative,  but  none  the  less  devoted. 
One  character  is  violent  in  his  moments  of 
anger,  while  another  is  tense  and  restrained. 
In  the  last  case,  a  personality  is  usually  char- 
acterized by  some  mannerism — individual  physi- 
cal action,  method  of  speaking,  metliod  of 
mental  functioning,  a  definite  poise  or  bearing, 
a  lazy-going  gait,  a  lifting  of  the  eyebrow,  an 
habitual  frowning,  a  peculiar  use  of  the  arms 
or  the  hands,  an  oddity  or  peculiarity  of  speech 
— which  differentiates  one  being  from  another. 


210  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

Personality,  then,  is  the  manifestation  of  human 
nature  in  terms  of  individuality. 

The  dramatist  is  obliged  to  create  character 
pretty  much  in  the  same  way  as  he  creates  or 
builds  a  plot.  Seldom  will  he  find  it  ready- 
made  in  active  life  round  about  him.  In  every- 
day activities,  a  character  is  scarcely  ever  a 
distinctive  motive  force  which  is  operative 
through  a  series  of  minor  crises  to  a  crucial 
moment ;  in  the  plot  of  a  play,  however,  he  is 
just  such  a  factor,  he  is  an  organic  and  inte- 
gral part  of  the  whole  structure.  As  a  result, 
a  character  must  ever  be  conceived  in  the  light 
of  the  plot  of  which  he  is  a  structural  and 
dynamic  element.  The  personality  must  be 
toned  down,  toned  up,  manipulated,  modified, 
moulded,  or  simplified,  as  the  case  may  be,  so 
that  it  will  fit  the  case  in  hand.  While  one 
dominant  trait  is  to  be  chiefly  emphasized,  it 
must  not  be  over-emphasized  at  the  expense  of 
all  other  attendant  elements ;  on  the  other  hand, 
a  character  created  is  not  a  thing  of  shreds  and 
patches,  it  is  not  a  conglomerate  or  an  incon- 
sistency. The  conceiving  and  handling  of  a 
virile  dramatic  personality  is  a  problem  in 
creative  imagination. 


Dramatic  Characterization    211 


Methods  of  Characterization 

Plot  and  character  are  so  organically  inter^ 
related  that  the  one  can  scarcely  be  conceived 
without  the  other.     Both  are  fundamental  in 
dramatic  fiction.     Moreover,  since  the  plot  of 
a  One-act  play  is  usually  more  or  less  simpli- 
fied   and    must    give    rise    to    something    of    a 
singleness    of   impression,    it    follows    that   the 
dramatist  must  be  deliberate  in  his  choice  of  the 
kinds  of  character  and  of  the  number  he  shall 
use.     In    any    case,    he    cannot   use    many;    at 
most,  he  will  not  have  more  than  two  or  three 
main  characters  with  a  supernumerary  or  two. 
Examination  of  several  hundred  One-act  plays 
has  revealed  that  the  average  number  of  char- 
acters  to  a   play   is   between   three   and   four. 
Among  these  there   are   usually   two   who   are 
more  or  less  prominently  emphasized,  although 
not   infrequently   only   one  is   paramount, — all 
the  others  are  but  foils  whereby  the  personality 
of  the  leading  character  is  provoked  and  re- 
vealed.     Simplification    of   plot    demands    that 
but  few  characters  be  used.     Too  many  char- 
acters  dissipate   the   attention,   and   too   many 
qualities    of    personality    arc    confusing.      The 
playwright  will  do  well  to  focus  the  attention 
of  the  audience  upon  one  or  two  well-conceived 
and  strongly  personalized  characters. 


212  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

The  first  step  in  characterization  is  to  con- 
ceive clearly  and  definitely  the  individual  per- 
sonality of  the  character  who  is  to  become  a 
motive  force  in  the  plot.  "Women  are  women, 
and  I  am  a  woman ;  but  I  am  I,  and  unlike 
them,"  says  Diana  in  Meredith's  "Diana  of  the 
Crossways."  To  the  playwright,  a  character 
should  appear  as  a  concrete,  living  being  whose 
impulses  he  is  able  to  feel  dramatically ;  the 
dramatist,  in  no  small  degree,  should  enter  into 
the  very  personality  of  his  chosen  character  in 
order  that  it  may  appear  human  and  virile 
when  seen  upon  the  stage.  The  author  should 
conceive  his  character  in  the  light  of  the  his- 
torical period  with  which  the  play  may  deal, — • 
eighteenth  century  life  was  quite  different  from 
that  of  the  twentieth,  and  Roman  life  different 
from  Mediaeval ;  he  should  conceive  character  in 
the  light  of  the  social  class  to  which  it  belongs, 
— the  elite  differ  from  the  illiterate;  and  he 
should  conceive  it  in  the  light  of  the  special  con- 
ditions of  the  play, — war,  politics,  intrigue,  do- 
mestic trouble,  lovers'  quarrel,  or  what  you  will. 
A  character  should  be  so  real  to  the  dramatist 
that  he  will  feel  and  know  just  how  a  given 
personality  will  respond  to  given  stimuli;  and 
he  must  conceive  in  what  kind  of  concrete  ob- 
jective action  the  character  will  reveal  this 
response.  Again,  since  the  One-act  play  is 
largely  a  series  of  crises,  it  follows,  too,  that 


Dramatic  Characterization    213 

the  playwright  should  visualize  clearly  how 
his  character  will  sense  a  critical  situation,  how 
it  will  deliberate  over  its  solution,  and  how  it 
will  meet  the  issue  with  decisive  action  of  one 
kind  or  another. 

Having  conceived  the  character  in  the  by 
and  large,  the  dramatist  must  next  proceed  to 
simplify  the  whole  to  its  essential  elements.  A 
dramatic  character  is  both  generic  and  specific ; 
the  universal  is  revealed  in  terms  of  the  indi- 
vidual. In  the  case  of  the  One-act  play,  where 
plot  is  very  much  simplified,  the  author  must 
eliminate  any  trait  of  personality  which  is  not 
a  contributory  element  to  the  plot  motive ;  he 
must  reduce  the  character  to  its  lowest  terms, 
to  its  very  fundamentals.  Sir  Harry,  in  Sir 
James  M.  Barrie's  "The  Twelve  Pound  Look," 
is  essentially  a  vain  egotist ;  Mary,  in  Lewis 
Beach's  "The  Clod,"  is  fundamentally  a  primi- 
tive and  ignorant  woman  goaded  to  violently 
angry  action  by  the  rude  criticism  of  two  Con- 
federate soldiers  who  have  entered  her  home  in 
search  of  a  Union  spy.  Janet  York,  in  George 
Middleton's  "Criminals"  is  a  wholesome,  inno- 
cent girl  who  is  suddenly  aroused  to  rebellious 
shame  by  the  shock  of  having  learned  the  physi- 
cal facts  of  life;  and  Hedvig,  in  Marion  Craig 
Wentworth's  "War  Brides,"  is  a  woman  whose 
high  sense  of  the  sacredness  of  marriage  and 
motherhood   has   boon    outraged.      Analysis    of 


214  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

the  characters  of  the  leading  One-act  plays  has 
shown  that  the  personalities  are  very  much  sim- 
plified and  reduced  to  but  one  or  two  dominant 
traits. 

The  playwright  must  not  forget  that  once 
the  curtain  is  up,  he  cannot  halt  his  play  to 
describe  or  to  personalize  his  characters.  In 
a  novel  or  in  a  short-story,  description  is,  of 
course,  a  part  of  the  method.  In  a  play,  on 
the  other  hand,  the  characters  have  no  other 
course  but  to  act.  Their  appearance,  their 
personality,  and  their  relations  to  each  other, 
are  seen  by  the  assembled  group ;  all  these 
things  must  appear  in  their  dress,  their  actions, 
and  their  conversation.  Each  must  stand  on 
its  own  feet  and  speak  for  itself:  there  is  no 
interpreter  who  stands  between  the  characters 
and  the  audience.  In  the  printed  form  of  the 
play,  however,  the  dramatist  may  materially 
aid  his  public  and  the  actor  by  using  descrip- 
tions of  personality  and  appearance.  These 
descriptions  appear  either  in  the  introductory 
material  and  setting  at  the  beginning  of  the 
play,  or  in  connection  with  the  stage-business 
often  inserted  at  the  point  where  a  character 
makes  its  first  entrance  in  the  play. 

Most  current  plays  make  use  of  such  de- 
scriptive material.  In  the  setting  to  George 
Middleton's  "Criminals,"  Mr.  and  Mrs.  York 
are  personalized  and  described  thus: 


Dramatic  Chakacterization    215 

York,  in  his  late  forties,  is  a  rather  obvious 
kindly  man  with  a  genial  voice  and  gentle  man- 
ner.    He  wears  a  frock  coat. 

Mrs.  York,  somewhat  younger,  is  also  a  lov- 
able personality  who  has  expended  all  her  ener- 
gies within  the  concentrated  limits  of  her  home 
life.  She  still  wears  her  formal  grey  afternoon 
gown. 

An  examination  of  Mr.  Middleton's  other 
plays  will  reveal  that  in  practically  each  one  of 
them  he  resorts  to  this  method  of  auxiliary  de- 
scription and  personalization.  The  playwright 
of  to-day  may  follow  the  example  to  advantage ; 
but  he  should  not  be  encouraged  to  be  so  pro- 
fuse in  these  descriptions  as  is  Sir  James  M. 
Barrie  in  his  "Pantaloon,"  "The  Twelve  Pound 
Look"  and  "Rosahnd,"  the  interesting  reading 
in  these  introductions  notwithstanding. 

Again,  in  the  printed  stage-direction  which 
usually  accompanies  the  first  entrance  of  a 
character  and  in  the  stage-business  accompany- 
ing a  speech,  the  dramatist  may  describe  or  may 
personalize  his  characters.  Sir  James  M. 
Barrie,  in  his  "The  Twelve  Pound  Look,"  de- 
scribes and  personalizes  A'af^  thus:  (.  .  .  She 
is  a  mere  typist,  dressed  in  uncommonly  good 
taste,  but  at  contemptibly  small  expense,  and 
she  is  carrying  her  type-writer  in  a  friendly  way 
rather  than  as  a  badge  of  slavery,  as  of  course 
it  is.     Her  eye  is  clear;  and,  in  odd  contrast 


216  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

to  Lady  Sims,  she  is  self-reliant  and  serene.) 
Thomas  H.  Dickinson,  in  his  "In  Hospital,"  de- 
scribes and  personalizes  the  Husband  in  the 
following:  (After  a  pause  the  centre  door 
opens  slowly,  and  the  husband  appears.  He 
is  haggard,  his  clothes  have  a  general  air  of 
neglect,  his  eyes  are  tired  for  lack  of  sleep. 
He  carries  his  hat  negligently  crushed  in  his 
hand.)  Richard  Harding  Davis,  in  his  "Black- 
mail," personalizes  Louis  Mohun  as  he  enters. 
{M'Ohun  enters  door  left.  He  is  lean,  keen 
faced,  watchful.  He  is  a  head  taller  than 
Fallon.  His  manner  always  watchful  has 
an  undercurrent  of  insolence.)  J.  Hartley 
Manners,  in  his  "Happiness,"  gives  one  a  clear 
idea  of  Jenny, — {Chandos — admits  Jenny,  a 
shop-girl,  carrying  two  large  boxes,  one  contain- 
ing a  dress  and  the  other  a  hat.  She  is  a  small, 
thin,  shabby  girl  of  nineteen  with  keen  bright 
eyes,  a  quiet,  rapid  delivery  and  a  whole-hearted 
healthy,  exuberant  manner.)  The  many  bits 
of  stage-business  accompanying  dialogue,  as 
it  appears  in  the  printed  play,  are  familiar  to 
every  student  of  One-act  plays;  such  words  as 
wearily,  heatedly,  doggedly,  with  conviction, 
chagrined,  violently,  irritated,  suavely,  flashing, 
playfully,  pouting,  and  dozens  of  other  phrases 
indicating  suggestive  action  are  used  to  good 
advantage  by  the  playwright.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  author  must  not  forget  that  these 


Dramatic  Characterization    217 

descriptions,  whether  they  appear  in  the  set- 
ting or  stage-business,  cannot  be  a  part  of  the 
acted  play,  and  in  no  case  may  they  be  a 
substitute  for  the  dramatic  values  and  action 
which  must  appear  in  concrete  form  on  the 
stage.  They  are  for  the  benefit  of  only  the 
reader  and  the  actor. 

Probably  one  of  the  most  effective  ways  of 
characterizing  is  by  revealing  the  emotional 
reaction  of  one  human  being  toward  the  other 
when  the  two  are  brought  together  under  con- 
ditions which  are  conducive  to  the  bringing 
out  of  their  latent  dynamic  qualities.  Fallon,  in 
Richard  Harding  Davis's  "Blackmail,"  proves 
to  be  a  man  of  unusual  high  senee  of  honor  and 
of  courageous  action  because  he  responds  to  the 
stimuli  of  the  story  of  Mrs.  Howard,  who,  in 
her  own  simple  way,  reveals  her  suffering  and 
shameful  humiliation  at  the  hand  of  Louis 
Mohun  who  has  cruelly  blackmailed  her.  Sir 
Harry,  in  Sir  James  M.  Barrie's  "The  Twelve 
Pound  Look,"  is  revealed  as  a  vain  egotist  by 
the  stimuli  offered  by  Kate  and  Lady  Sims. 
In  August  Strindberg's  "Pariah,"  the  person- 
alities of  the  two  characters  therein  are  very 
effectively  portrayed  by  a  reciprocal  reaction 
of  one  upon  the  other;  and  in  his  "Countess 
Julie,"  the  character  of  Julie,  a  bold,  vivacious 
girl  who  "played  with  fire  and  got  burned,"  is 
revealed  by  her  reaction  on  the  cruel  and  ill- 


218  Technique  of  the  One-Act  Play 

minded  Jean.  In  Lady  Gregory's  "The  Work- 
house Ward,"  in  the  inter-reaction  between  the 
two  Irishmen  in  the  play,  a  personal  family 
pride  and  a  tendency  to  quarrel,  coupled  with 
a  fondness  for  companionship,  are  personal 
traits  that  are  emphasized.  Very  often  this 
method  of  characterization  results  in  contrast- 
ing one  personality  with  another,  with  the  re- 
sult that  they  stand  out  in  bold  relief. 

Another  effective  way  by  which  a  playwright 
may  characterize,  is  that  of  revealing  to  the 
full  the  latent  inner  personality  at  a  crucial 
and  vital  moment.  It  is  in  a  moment  of  crisis 
that  the  soul  is  laid  bare,  that  all  conventional 
restraint  drops  off  like  a  mask  and  the  emo- 
tional functioning  is  free  and  untrammelled. 
In  Alfred  Sutro's  "The  Correct  Thing,"  the 
fine  womanhood  of  Kitty  Bellany  is  not  fully 
revealed  until  the  crucial  moment,  and  then  it 
comes  like  a  flash !  It  is  often  the  way  in  which 
a  human  being  meets  a  vital  issue  that  its  real 
character  is  revealed.  In  Lewis  Beach's  "The 
Clod,"  the  deeply  primitive  nature  of  Mary  is 
most  effectively  revealed  in  her  terrible  fit  of 
anger  provoked  by  the  uncomplimentary  re- 
marks of  two  Confederate  soldiers  about  the 
coffee  she  had  been  compelled  to  make  for  them. 
Vital  crises  and  crucial  moments  are  the  rarest 
opportunities  for  the  playwright  to  emphasize 


Dramatic  Characterization    219 

the  real  personality  of  his  characters  for  his 
audience. 

Usually  a  character  may  be  effectively  por- 
trayed through  his  speech, — through  the  dia- 
logue of  the  play.  Not  only  what  is  said  but 
also  the  way  it  is  said  is  significant.  In  Perci- 
val  Wilde's  dramatic  episode,  "The  Traitor," 
the  very  first  speech — Mac  Lawrin  (vehe- 
mently): It's  hell,  Colonel,  that's  what  it  is! 
It's  hell!" — thoroughly  individualizes  Mac 
Laurin,  and  he  speaks  "in  character"  through- 
out the  play.  The  enthusiastic  and  wholesome 
working-girl,  Jenny,  in  J.'  Hartley  Manners' 
"Happiness"  is  happily  characterized  by  her 
speeches  as  well  as  by  the  accompanying  stage- 
business.  In  response  to  Mrs.  Chrystal-Pole's, 
"You  poor  little  thing!  (Takes  one  of  Jenny's 
hands,)",  Jenny  says,  "(Slowly  taking  her  hand 
away)  Oh,  I'm  all  right,  lady.  I'm  very 
healthy  and  very  strong.  Of  course,  I'm  small 
to  look  at,  but  I'm  really  very  big  inside.  Ye 
know,  I  feel  big.  Did  ye  ever  see  a  little  dog 
that  thought  he  was  a  great,  big  bloodhound.'' 
Thafs  me.  I've  got  great  big  thoughts,  etc." 
The  dialogue  of  the  Emperor  in  Sir  James  M. 
Barrie's  "Der  Tag,"  effectively  characterizes 
his  Imperial  Majesty,  as  is  revealed  in  the  little 
scene  which  follows  the  Spirit  of  Culture's 
warning  not  to  invade  Belgium. 

(She  goes.     He  is  left  in  two  minds.     He 


220  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

crosses  to  sign.  He  flings  down  the  pen.  He 
strikes  the  bell.  Chancellor  and  Officer  re- 
appear.) 

Chancellor:  Your  Imperial  Majesty  has 
signed  ? 

Emperor:     Thus.     (He  tears  the  paper.) 

Officer:     Sire! 

Emperor:  Say  this  to  Russia,  France,  and 
Britain  in  my  Imperial  name:  So  long  as  they 
keep  within  their  borders  I  remain  in  mine. 

Officer:     But,  Sire 

Emperor:  You  know,  as  I  do,  that  it  is  all 
they  ask  for. 

Chancellor:     You  were  the  friend  of  Austria. 

Emperor:  I'll  prove  it.  Tell  her  from  me 
that  Servia  has  yielded  on  every  point  which 
doth  become  a  nation  and  that  Austria  may 
accept  her  terms. 

Chancellor :     Nay,  Sire 

Emperor:     And  so,  there  will  be  no  war. 

Officer:     Sire,  we  beg 

Emperor:  These  are  my  commands.  (They 
have  to  go,  chagrined,  but  deferential.) 

Too  often  the  playwright  neglects  to  take 
into  consideration  the  value  of  nice  details  as 
an  aid  to  characterization.  Personality  is 
often  revealed  through  one's  bearing  and  de- 
corum; a  character  may  be  graceful  or  awk- 
ward, stooped  or  erect,  vivacious  or  weary, 
queenly  or  hag-like.     Often  the  attitude  of  one 


Dramatic  Characterization    221 

character  toward  its  associates  gives  insight 
into  his  nature:  he  may  be  modest  and  shrink- 
ing, or  domineering  and  boastful ;  he  may  be 
polite  and  deferential,  or  ill-mannered  and 
boorish.  Qualities  of  temperament  are  usually 
an  index  to  personality :  a  person  may  be  stern, 
irritable,  cautious,  secretive,  quick-tempered, 
flighty.  Dress,  too,  is  frequently  indicative  of 
personality:  neatness,  love  of  adornment, 
slovenliness,  bright  colors,  modish  garments, 
quality  of  materials,  design,  are  suggestive. 
Again,  qualities  of  the  speaking  voice  individ- 
ualize a  character:  whether  harsh  or  soothing, 
deep  or  high-pitched,  thin  and  piping  or  full 
and  voluminous,  the  qualities  of  the  voice  are 
usually  complemental  to  qualities  of  personal- 
ity, and  in  the  theatre  one  is  prone  to  associate 
one  with  the  other.  Lastly,  the  physical  fea- 
tures of  a  person  often  are  indicative  of  per- 
sonality :  sharp  features  and  small,  keen  eyes 
suggest  shrewdness ;  good  nature  appears  in 
the  lines  about  the  eyes  and  mouth ;  foolish- 
ness is  often  revealed  in  the  big  leering  mouth ; 
thick,  red  neck  and  heavy,  square  jaw  suggest 
an  arrogant  and  domineering  nature.  The  au- 
thor, in  using  these  details,  must  not  forget 
that  they  must  appear  in  the  descriptive  mate- 
rial of  the  setting  or  the  stage-business ;  he 
cannot  halt  the  action  of  liis  play  and  call 
attention  to  them. 


222  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

Furthermore,  too  many  playwrights  forget 
that  the  name  given  to  a  character  is  often  an 
index  to  it?  personality.  In  fiction  of  any 
kind,  and  particularly  on  the  stage,  names  con- 
vey suggestions  of  personality,  and  arouse  con- 
gruous or  incongruous  associations  by  reason 
of  the  sounds  of  which  they  are  composed. 
Any  student  of  literature  or  devotee  of  the 
stage  knows  from  experience  that  some  names 
fit  certain  characters  and  others  do  not. 
Moreover,  not  infrequently  the  name  of  the 
character  tends  to  prejudice  one  for  or  against 
it.  Among  the  many  given  names,  Jennie, 
Maggie,  Clara,  Ann,  Tillie,  are  often  found  to 
be  attached  to  middle-class  heroines  of  the 
servant-girl  type ;  whereas,  Priscilla,  Annette, 
Dorcas,  are  Puritan-like  and  modest.  Claude 
and  Percivftl  are  erratic ;  Clifford  is  weak  and 
unstable ;  Reginald,  Robert,  Ralph,  are  digni- 
fied and  courtier-like.  Henry,  Ruth,  John, 
William,  Kate,  Emily,  Samuel,  are  solid  and 
devoid  of  affectation ;  and  Benson,  Peters,  Jud- 
son.  Squires,  Martin,  are  names  for  butlers  and 
footmen.  Again  it  is  noteworthy  that  certain 
combinations  of  names  are  quite  suggestive ; 
Mrs.  Chrystal-Pole,  Lady  Sims,  Madam  Cheno- 
weth  are  a  bit  aristocratic ;  Clifford  Waite  and 
Harvey  Western  are  weak ;  Frank  Sterling, 
Craig  Gordon,  Arnold  Bennett,  are  thorough- 
going.    National  and  racial  types  may  be  indi- 


Dramatic  Characterization    223 

cated  by  appropriate  names ;  as,  O'Brien, 
Beauchard,  Prosser,  Skelton,  and  Levinsky. 
Experience  has  shown  that  it  is  not  good 
dramaturgy  to  give  a  character  such  insipid 
names  as  "A  man,"  "A  woman,"  "He,"  "She" ; 
"The  Husband,"  "The  Wife";  "Madam  X," 
"Madam  Y";  "Mrs.  X,"  "Mr.  Y";  "Father," 
"Mother,"  "Daughter."  To  attach  a  name  to 
a  character  that  does  not  tend  to  give  it  per- 
sonality and  distinction  is  to  place  it  under  a 
handicap.  The  average  theatre-goer  naturally 
associates  a  name  with  certain  traits  of  char- 
acter; and  it  is  the  obligation  of  the  playwright 
to  resort  to  every  effective  and  legitimate  means 
at  his  disposal  to  get  definite  impressions  to  his 
audience.  In  any  case,  he  should  not  be  so 
careless  and  neglectful  as  to  give  to  a  char- 
acter such  a  name  as  will  prove  an  obstacle  to 
the  understanding  and  appreciation  of  its  per- 
sonality. 


CHAPTER  X 

DRAMATIC    DIALOGUE 
The  Function  of  Dramatic  Dialogue 

There  prevails,  in  certain  quarters  at  least, 
something  of  a  misconception  about  the  nature 
and  importance  of  dramatic  dialogue.  A  num- 
ber of  critics  seem  to  think  that  the  reputed 
testimony  of  Menander,  of  Eugene  Scribe  and 
others,  is  to  be  taken  as  prima  facie  evidence 
that  if  the  plot  and  the  characters  are  well  con- 
ceived there  is  little  need  to  give  much  serious 
attention  to  the  matter  of  dialogue.  "It  is 
composed  and  ready ;  I  have  only  the  verses  to 
write,"  Plutarch  reports  Menander  as  having 
replied  to  an  inquiry  about  his  new  play, 
"When  my  subject  is  good,"  says  Eugene 
Scribe,  "when  my  scenario  (plot)  is  very  clear, 
very  complete,  I  might  have  the  play  written  by 
my  servant ;  he  would  be  sustained  by  the  situa- 
tions ; — and  the  play  would  succeed."  A  con- 
temporary writer  asserts  that  dialogue  is  "one 
of  the  least  important  elements  of  the  playlet 
— yet  a  decorative  element  which  wit  and  clever- 
ness can  make  exceedingly  valuable,"  and  that 

224 


Dramatic  Dialogue  225 

"dialogue  is  merely  the  playlet's  clothes,"  and 
that  "Every  play  is,  in  the  last  analysis,  a 
pantomime.  Words  are  unnecessary  to  tell  a 
stage  story. — Words  can  only  embelhsh  it." 
Such  assertions  as  these  appear  very  well  in 
print  and  tend  to  make  the  beginner  in  play- 
writing  feel  that  the  matter  of  composing  dra- 
matic dialogue  is  not  a  very  important  one. 

A  word  of  warning  is  here  in  point.  Such 
statements  as  these  are  misleading,  though 
probably  unintentionally  so.  Assertions  of 
this  kind  usually  have  one  of  several  sources: 
one  is  that  of  the  skilled  writer  who  does  his 
work  apparently  so  easily  and  so  well  that  he, 
unconsciously  perhaps,  wholly  underestimates 
what  real  effort  he  puts  into  his  finished 
product;  another  is  that  of  the  novice  or  the 
amateur  who  has  not  yet  arrived  at  a  point 
where  he  fully  realizes  the  fundamental  nature 
of  the  various  aspects  of  his  craft ;  and,  again, 
there  is  the  critic  who  does  not  adequately  con- 
ceive the  real  value  of  the  elements  of  a  play, 
and  who,  in  his  enthusiasm  to  encourage  the 
writer,  gives  the  impression  that  dialogue  is 
merely  a  dress  or  an  embellishment.  A  study 
of  the  world's  dramatic  masterpieces  does  not 
tend  to  impress  one  with  the  feeling  that  dra- 
matic dialogue  has  been  so  considered  by  the 
playwrights.  On  the  contrary,  dramatic  dia- 
logue   is    a   highly    important    and    thoroughly 


226  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

organic  part  of  a  play.  It  is  a  constructive 
element  quite  as  much  as  are  plot  and  character. 

Furthermore,  the  statement  of  a  contempo- 
rary writer  that  dialogue  in  the  drama  should 
never  begin  until  pantomime  leaves  off  is  also 
misleading.  Every  student  of  practical  drama- 
turgy is  quite  agreed  that  a  good  play  is,  in 
its  essence,  a  good  pantomime ;  but  to  hold  that 
dialogue  should  never  begin  until  after  panto- 
mime has  left  off  is  ridiculous  and  absurd.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  the  practice  of  every  reput- 
able dramatist  is  quite  to  the  contrary.  More- 
over, one's  experience  in  the  play-house  is  that 
one  desires  not  only  to  see  the  characters  act 
but  also  to  hear  them  speak ;  and  even  a  casual 
observation  of  life  shows  that  men  and  women, 
in  expressing  and  revealing  their  ideas  and  emo- 
tions, employ  simultaneously  both  pantomimic 
action  and  speech.  If  drama  should  approxi- 
mate life,  if  it  is  to  be  characterized  by  veri- 
similitude, then  action  and  dialogue  go  hand 
in  hand.  There  is  a  reciprocal  relation  between 
the  two ;  and  the  playwright  should  so  con- 
struct his  dialogue  and  his  pantomimic  action 
that  in  most  cases  they  will  be  complemental  to 
each  other. 

On  the  other  hand,  in  practical  playwriting, 
whenever  pantomime  may  be  employed  to  good 
effect,  merely  repetitive  dialogue  is  not  only 
uneconomical,  but  it  is  positively  devitalizing. 


Dramatic  Dialogue  227 

The  significant  stroke  of  the  razor  to  the  neck 
by  Julie,  in  August  Strindberg's  "Countess 
Julie,"  which  so  effectively  suggests  that  sui- 
cide is  the  one  way  by  which  she  can  escape 
further  humiliation,  would  be  weak  and  merely 
explanatory  if  it  were  accompanied  by  repeti- 
tive dialogue.  Oftentimes  a  thing  may  be 
made  most  emphatic  by  gesture,  movement, 
facial  expression  or  dramatic  pause;  when  this 
is  the  case,  the  dramatist,  merely  to  provide 
dialogue,  should  not  express  it  in  words  also. 
On  the  other  hand,  there  are  always  some  things 
in  every  play,  that  no  pantomime  of  any  kind 
could  make  clear  or  effective;  in  such  cases 
dialogue  must  be  resorted  to.  Then  too,  it 
must  be  kept  in  mind  that  pantomime  has  its 
limitations,  that,  after  all,  it  is  not  possible 
by  the  mere  carriage  of  the  head  and  shoulders 
to  reveal  one's  nationality  or  by  a  significant 
squint  of  the  eye  always  to  reveal  one's  inner 
personality  or  motive.  In  such  cases  dialogue 
will  have  to  come  to  the  rescue.  In  any  case, 
the  dramatist  should  observe  the  law  of  economy 
of  attention :  he  must  convey  his  impressions  to 
the  assembled  group  with  the  least  possible 
means  and  in  the  least  possible  time.  When- 
ever pantomimic  action  will  achieve  the  result, 
it  should  be  used ;  whenever  dialogue  will  secure 
the  best  effect,  then  the  two  should  be  used; 
and  when  the  two  used  in  complemental  or  co- 


228  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

operative  relations  secure  the  best  effect,  then 
the  two  should  be  used  in  conjunction.  What 
the  method  of  procedure  shall  be  in  any  given 
case  is  a  matter  that  must  be  left  to  the  judg- 
ment of  the  individual  playwright. 

The  nature  of  the  dialogue  used  in  any  given 
place  will  depend  almost  entirely  upon  its  func- 
tion in  the  play.  It  may  be  used  for  exposition, 
for  transition  or  connective  purposes,  for  ad- 
vancement of  plot,  for  revelation  of  character, 
or  for  the  purpose  of  revealing  the  ideas  and 
feelings  of  characters  at  their  moments  of  high- 
est emotional  functioning.  Furthermore,  not 
all  dialogue  used  in  a  play  is  necessarily  dra- 
matic. Most  of  it  is  essentially  dramatic,  as 
a  matter  of  course.  It  must  be  kept  in  mind 
that  the  basis  of  drama  is  crisis  and  that  a 
play  consists  of  a  series  of  minor  crises  leading 
to  a  crucial  moment.  Obviously,  the  most  dra- 
matic dialogue  would  be  coincident  with  the 
highest  crucial  points,  whereas  the  dialogue 
used  at  the  points  of  lower  emotional  excite- 
ment would  tend  toward  the  more  commonplace 
speech.  Analysis  of  thg  series  of  crises  in  Mary 
Aldis's  "Extreme  Unction,"  a  beautiful  and 
pathetic  little  play,  or  in  John  Millington 
Synge's  "Riders  to  the  Sea,"  or  in  Oliphant 
Down's  "The  Maker  of  Dreams,"  or  in  Lewis 
Beach's  "The  Clod,"  or  in  George  Cram  Cook 
and  Susan  Glaspell's  "Suppressed  Desires,"  will 


Dramatic  Dialogue  229 

reveal  that  the  most  strongly  dramatic  dia- 
logue is  coincident  with  the  moments  of  highest 
emotional  functioning. 

In  any  play,  there  is  need  of  getting  certain 
facts  before  the  audience.  Usually  a  One-act 
play  begins  at  a  point  where  the  plot  forces 
have  already  assumed  a  rather  significant  and 
dramatic  aspect.  This  means  that  certain 
precedent  conditions,  forces,  activities,  or  what 
not,  must  be  made  clear  if  the  play  is  to  be 
appreciated  fully.  Sometimes  such  expository 
material  is  presented  in  the  dialogue  of  the 
Beginning  of  the  play  as  in  Edgar  Allan 
Woolf  s  "The  Lollard,"  or  in  Percival  Wilde's 
melodramatic  "The  Traitor,"  or  in  Lord 
Dunsany's  "The  Glittering  Gate";  and  some- 
times there  is  much  expository  dialogue  scat- 
tered throughout  the  middle  of  the  play  as  an 
examination  of  Mary  Aldis's  "Extreme  Unc- 
tion," Sir  James  M.  Barrie's  "The  Twelve 
Pound  Look,"  August  Strindberg's  "Facing 
Death,"  and  George  Cram  Cook  and  Susan 
Glaspell's  "Suppressed  Desires"  will  reveal. 
In  the  episode  between  the  Caller  and  the  Poet, 
in  Lord  Dunsany's  "The  Lost  Silk  Hat,"  the 
Caller,  in  expository  dialogue,  makes  clear  cer- 
tain things  which  took  place  before  the  play 
opens  and  which  are,  in  large  measure,  the  basis 
for  the  dramatic  action  itself. 


230  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

Caller:  I  cannot.  I  can  never  enter  that 
house  again. 

Poet:  If  you  have  committed  a  murder,  by 
all  means  tell  me.  I  am  not  sufficiently  inter- 
ested in  ethics  to  wish  to  have  you  hanged 
for  it. 

Caller:     Do  I  look  like  a  murderer.'' 
Poet:     No,  of  course  not.     I  am  only  say- 
ing that  you  can  safely  trust  me,  for  not  only 
does  the  statute  book  and  its  penalties  rather 
tend  to  bore  me,  but  murder  itself  has  always 
had    a    certain    fascination    for    me.       I    write 
delicate  and  fastidious  lyrics,  yet,  strange  as 
it  may  appear,  I  read  every  murder  trial,  and 
my  sympathies  are  always  with  the  prisoner. 
Caller:     But  I  tell  you  I  am  not  a  murderer. 
Poet:     Then  what  have  you  done.? 
Caller:     I  have  quarrelled  with  a  lady  in  that 
house  and  have  sworn  to  join  the  Bosnians  and 
die  in  Africa. 

Poet:  But  this  is  beautiful. 
Caller:  Unfortunately  I  forgot  my  hat. 
A  second  function  of  dialogue  in  a  play  is  to 
connect  and  to  blend  into  an  effective  sequence 
the  various  points  and  crises  of  a  plot  move- 
ment. A  good  playwright  conceives  his  work 
as  a  study  in  a  series  of  strong  situations. 
These  cannot  be  isolated  one  from  the  other, 
nor  can  there  be  marked  hiatus  between  them. 
There   must  he  adequate   transition   from   one 


Dramatic  Dialogue  231 

crisis  to  the  next;  and,  to  secure  the  desired 
effect,  there  must  be  some  dialogue  of  a  transi- 
tional nature.  The  main  function  of  such 
speeches  is  to  blend  the  structural  units  of  the 
play  into  smooth  sequence.  Very  often  this 
dialogue  is  the  least  dramatic  of  the  play; 
nevertheless,  it  is  always  an  organic  part  of 
the  plot  movement  and  is  frequently  the  most 
difficult  to  handle. 

In  the  third  place,  when  pantomimic  action 
will  not  advance  or  make  clear  the  plot  move- 
ment or  the  dramatic  situation,  dialogue  must 
be  used  to  get  the  desired  effect.  Frequently, 
such  dialogue  is  highly  organic  in  that  it  makes 
clear  and  emphasizes  a  given  situation,  indi- 
cates subsequent  plot  development,  and  pre- 
pares for  some  subsequent  effect.  This  happy 
combination  of  functions  is  seen  in  the  follow- 
ing excerpt  from  Richard  Harding  Davis's 
"Blackmail." 

Fallon:  Yes,  but  he's  not  dealing  with  a 
woman,  now,  he's  dealing  with  a  man,  with 
boots  on.     Do  as  I  tell  you. 

{Mrs.  Howard  sits  at  writing  desk  and 
takes  receiver  off  telephone.  Fallon  leans 
against  table  right,  puffing  quickly  on  his  cigar, 
and  glancing  impatiently  at  the  valise  that 
holds  his  revolver.) 

Mrs.  Howard:  Give  me  the  cafe,  please.  Is 
this    the    cafe.?      I    want    to    speak    to    a    Mr. 


232  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

Mohun,  he  is  waiting  to  be  called  up — oh, 
thank  you.  (To  Fallon}  He's  coming.  (To 
'phone)  I  have  seen  that  man  and  he  says 
he'll  take  up  that  debt,  and  pay  it.  Yes,  now, 
at  once.  You're  to  wait  for  ten  minutes,  until 
he  can  get  the  money,  and  then,  he'll  telephone 
you  to  come  up.  I  don't  know,  I'll  ask.  (To 
Fallon)     He  says  it  must  be  in  cash. 

Fallon:  (Sarcastically)  Why,  certainly! 
That'll  be  all  right.  {Mrs.  Howard  places  her 
hand  over  the  mouthpiece.) 

Mrs.  Howard:     I'll  not  let  you  pay  him! 

Fallon:  I'm  not  going  to!  I'm  going  to 
give  him  just  what's  coming  to  him.  Tell  him, 
it'll  be  all  right. 

Lastly,  dialogue,  and  herein  lies  its  greatest 
function  and  highest  possibilities,  is  used  to 
reveal  character  and  to  express  the  ideas  and 
feelings  of  the  dramatis  personce  at  their 
moments  of  highest  emotional  functioning. 
Obviously  such  dialogue  is  most  nearly  coinci- 
dent with  the  apex  of  crises  and  crucial 
moments ;  it  is  here  that  personality  is  most 
fully  revealed  and  emotional  expression  is  at  its 
height;  it  is  at  such  times  that  the  dialogue  is 
most  moving.  Indeed,  dramatic  dialogue  in  its 
highest  form  may  he  defined  as  that  speech 
which  rex>eals  the  ideas  and  feelings  of  char- 
acters at  their  moments  of  highest  emotional 
functioning.     In     the     chapter    on    Dramatic 


Dramatic  Dialogue  233 

Characterization,  it  was  pointed  out  that  dia- 
logue could  be  used  to  reveal  personality.  The 
speeches  put  into  the  mouth  of  the  Poet  in  Lord 
Dunsany's  "The  Lost  Silk  Hat"  show  him  to 
be  extremely  sentimental  and  fanciful;  and  the 
speeches  of  Sir  Harry  in  Sir  James  M.  Barrie's 
"The  Twelve  Pound  Look"  show  him  to  be  a 
confirmed  and  stupid  egotist.  The  utterance 
of  the  Dupe  at  the  close  of  J.  Hartley  Manners' 
"The  Day  of  Dupes,"  and  the  speeches  of  the 
Wise  Man  in  William  Butler  Yeats's  "The 
Hour-Glass,"  at  the  point  where  he  realizes  that 
he  has  led  every  one  of  his  associates  into  unbe- 
lief and  that,  as  a  consequence,  he  is  to  die,  re- 
veal the  feelings  of  these  persons  at  moments  of 
very  strong  emotional  functioning.  Almost  any 
good  One-act  play  Is  an  example  of  the  fact 
that  dramatic  dialogue  which  reveals  person- 
ality and  expresses  strong  emotion,  is  coinci- 
dent with  crises  and  crucial  moments.  Percival 
Wilde's  melodramatic  "The  Finger  of  God" 
closes  thus, — 

(The  telephone  rings,  harshly  and  shrilly. 
Strickland  goes  to  the  receiver.) 

Strickland:  (Quietly)  Yes.?  .  .  .  You're 
afraid  I'm  going  to  miss  the  train.''  .  .  .  Yes.'' 
Well,  I'm  going  to  miss  the  train !  .  .  .  I'm 
going  to  stay  and  face  the  music!  (Hyster- 
ically) I'm  an  honest  man.  (And  furiously 
he  pitches  the  telephone  to  the  floor  and  stands 


234  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

panting,  shivering,  on  the  spot.  From  the 
window  a  soft  radiance  beckons,  and  trembling 
in  every  limb,  putting  out  his  hands  as  if  to 
ward  off  some  unseen  obstacle,  he  moves  there 
slowly.)  Did  you  hear  what  I  told  him.''  I'm 
going  to  make  good.  I'm  going  to  face  the 
music !  Because  I'm  an  honest  man !  An 
honest  man!  (He  gasps,  stops  abruptly,  and 
in  a  sudden  panic-stricken  movement,  tears  the 
curtains  down.  The  window  is  closed — has 
never  been  opened — but  the  girl  has  vanished. 
And  as  Strickland,  burying  his  face  in  his 
hands,  drops  to  his  knees  in  awe. 
The  Curiam  Falls. 
No  dialogue  of  any  kind  must  be  allowed  to 
get  in  the  way  either  of  plot  or  of  characteriza- 
tion; it  must  not  be  merely  dress  or  embellish- 
ment. As  a  matter  of  fact,  dialogue  is  almost 
as  organic  an  element  in  plot  development  as 
are  character  and  incident.  Every  speech,  on 
the  other  hand,  must  be  justified  by  one  reason 
or  another ;  every  bit  of  dialogue  must  perform 
some  function, — exposition,  transition,  ad- 
vancement of  plot,  revelation  of  character,  ex- 
pression of  ideas  and  feelings  at  moments  of 
high  emotional  functioning.  There  must  be  no 
surplus  phrasing  in  the  One-act  play.  And 
while  the  dramatist  must  ever  keep  in  mind 
what  his  specific  purpose  is  in  using  any  given 
bit  of  dialogue,  he  should  also  remember  that 


Dramatic  Dialogue  235 

that  speech  is  best  which  at  one  and  the  same 
time  performs  several  functions, — reveals  char- 
acter, advances  the  plot,  and  expresses  deep 
emotion. 


The  Characteristics  of  Dramatic  Dialogue 

The  most  essential  characteristic  of  dramatic 
dialogue  is  its  emotional  spontaneity.  Dia- 
logue must  spring  naturally  from  the  situation 
and  from  the  characters.  "Out  of  the  abun- 
dance of  the  heart  the  mouth  speaketh,"  is 
particularly  true  of  dramatic  utterance.  It  is 
in  the  moments  of  deep  feeling  that  a  character 
speaks  with  greatest  abandon ;  his  emotions  are 
almost  as  spontaneous  in  being  expressed  as 
they  are  swift  in  surging  through  his  being. 
His  utterance  is  free  from  restraint  of  any 
kind ;  his  personality  and  his  feelings  stand 
forth  in  all  their  essential  values.  He  expresses 
himself  in  rather  short,  sharp,  seemingly 
thoughtless,  but  vividly  pulsating  words  of 
every-day  life.  Dramatic  utterance  is  not 
formal,  it  is  not  studied ;  but  it  is  enthusiastic 
and  spontaneous. 

Because  of  its  strongly  emotional  element, 
dramatic  dialogue  constantly  suggests  p,nd  re- 
veals a  great  deal  more  than  it  says.  It  is 
rich  in  latent  values.  It  connotes  more  than  it 
denotes.     It  reveals  much  more  than  it  actually 


236  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

states.  Suggestion  is  always  more  forcible  than 
direct  information.  Moreover,  it  is  this  con- 
notation and  this  latent  emotional  value  that 
tend  to  provoke  corresponding  emotional  func- 
tioning in  the  audience.  "A  listener,"  says  Aris- 
totle, "is  always  in  sympathy  with  an  emotional 
speaker,  even  though  what  he  says  is  absolutely 
worthless."  A  good  dramatic  speech  is  always 
distilled  to  its  lowest  terms  of  emotional  values. 
"Naturally,"  says  Charlton  Andrews,  "the  best 
dialogue  of  all  is  that  which  is  not  merely  deno- 
tative but  also  connotative, — that  which  implies 
and  suggests  a  freightage  of  emotional  signifi- 
cance it  could  not  possibly  carry  in  actual  ex- 
pression." 

A  second  characteristic  of  dramatic  dialogue 
is  its  effective  condensation.  "And  as  the  ac- 
tion is  thus  compacted  and  heightened,"  says 
Brander  Matthews,  "so  must  the  dialogue  also 
be  condensed  and  strengthened.  It  is  only  a 
brief  time  that  we  have  to  spend  in  the  theatre ; 
and  therefore  must  the  speech  of  every  charac- 
ter be  stripped  of  the  tautology,  of  the  digres- 
sions, of  the  irrelevancies,  which  dilute  every-day 
conversation."  Multum  m  parva  is  ever  an 
aspect  of  heightened  and  impassioned  speech. 
The  playwright  must  ever  concern  himself  not 
with  what  is  said  in  actual  life  but  with  what 
must  be  said  to  express  action  and  to  reveal 
character  in  such  way  as  to  create  dramatic 


Dramatic  Dialogue  237 

movement.  Every  speech  must  be  reduced  to  a 
minimum  of  materials  and  yet  it  must  be  sur- 
charged with  values.  To  omit  is  a  far  more 
important  matter  than  to  include.  A  whole 
life  must  be  compressed  into  a  single  speech 
and  an  entire  vital  experience  into  a  single  word. 
Good  dialogue,  then,  is  not  the  speech  of 
every-day  life.  It  is  not  the  commonplace  ques- 
tion and  answer ;  it  is  not  the  small  talk  of  the 
drawing-room  or  of  the  gossip's  corner.  It  is 
not  the  haphazard  discussions,  the  illogical  ar- 
gument, or  the  inconsequential  dispute  that  one 
hears  as  one  passes  along  on  the  street  or  else- 
where. It  is  not  the  mere  narration  of  a  dra- 
matic episode ;  nor  is  it  mere  wit  and  repartee. 
It  is  not  the  prolix  and  redundant  every-day 
speech  so  grammatically  faulty,  so  tedious,  and 
so  long-drawn-out.  On  the  contrary,  dramatic 
dialogue  avoids  and  eliminates  all  the  petty  rep- 
etitions and  digressions  of  ordinary  conversa- 
tion; and  whatever  material  or  phrasing  is 
used,  it  must  be  arranged  with  a  view  to  a  sin- 
gle, forceful  effect.  Good,  effective  dialogue 
is  obtained  by  eliminating  the  large  amount  of 
irrelevant,  redundant,  and  verbose  detail  which 
persons  ordinarily  use ;  and  it  is  the  result  of 
simplifying  and  heightening  that  part  of  the 
conversation  which  remains.  Effective  dialogue 
seems  to  be  actual  every-day  speech,  but  it  is 
really  only  its  vital  substance  and  manner.     It 


238  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

is  the  condensed  and  heightened  talk  of  real 
people. 

Effective  dialogue  is  the  result  of  discrimina- 
tive selection  of  essentials  from  every-day  speech 
for  purposes  of  presentation.  All  underbrush, 
all  rubbish,  all  dead  wood,  must  be  eliminated. 
Good  dramatic  speech  should  be  the  selected 
parts  of  representative  conversation  when  sit- 
uation, mood,  action,  or  character,  give  it 
especial  value.  In  every-day  life,  lawless  as  is 
the  sequence  of  its  general  activities,  speech  is 
not  constructed  to  a  given  definite  end.  On  the 
other  hand,  in  a  play,  this  is  precisely  what 
must  be  done;  every  bit  of  material  and  every 
bit  of  phrasing  must  be  constructed  with  a  view 
to  a  definite  result.  It  has  structure  without 
its  having  any  appearance  of  having  been  stud- 
ied ;  it  has  force  without  its  having  any  seeming 
intent  or  design  to  be  so ;  it  has  verisimilitude 
without  its  employing  the  commonplaces  and  ex- 
cesses of  ordinary  speech.  It  seems  so  natural 
that  it  does  not  reveal  the  fact  that  it  has  been 
somewhat  thought  out  in  advance. 

In  the  tliird  place,  practicable  dramatic  dia- 
logue is  not  necessarily  stylistic  and  literary. 
For  the  most  part  any  fineness  of  literary  style 
is  wasted  on  an  audience  who  are  moved  by  the 
emotional  values  in  a  speech  rather  than  by  any  j 
stylistic  quality  it  may  happen  to  possess.! 
Tests,  which  have  been  conducted  under  a  vari- 


Dramatic  Dialogue  239 

ety  of  conditions,  have  revealed  the  very  inter- 
esting fact  that  the  average  audience  is  not 
capable  of  hearing  whether  dialogue  is  ill  or 
well  written.  Few  persons  in  the  play-house  are 
able  to  tell  whether  a  play  is  written  in  prose 
or  in  verse.  An  assembled  group  seldom  ap- 
preciates the  added  polish  that  lifts  dialogue 
to  the  realm  of  literature  and  art.  Emotional 
values,  rather  than  turns  of  style,  are  what 
count  in  speech  as  heard  in  the  theatre.  For 
practical  purposes  dialogue  should  be  literary 
only  so  far  as  an  effective  performance  of  the 
play  will  permit.  On  the  other  hand,  the  dram- 
atist must  remember  that  while  stylistic  writ- 
ing is  not  a  necessary  element  in  the  immediate 
merit  of  the  play  as  a  play,  yet  it  must  reach 
this  point  if  the  author  would  have  his  product 
take  a  place  among  the  literary  masterpieces. 

Furthermore,  dramatic  dialogue  is  not  that 
which  necessarily  scintillates  with  brilliancy  and 
wit.  Brilliant  and  witty  conversation  is  all  right 
and  should  be  used  if  the  characters  into  whose 
mouths  it  is  put  are  consistently  brilliant  and 
witty.  If  such  dialogue  is  not  appropriate  to 
the  character,  then  there  is  just  so  much  super- 
imposed material  that  is  not  an  organic  part 
of  the  play.  The  playwright  should  not  forget 
that  his  plot,  his  character,  his  dialogue,  are  to 
be  used  for  the  securing  of  a  given  singleness  of 
effect,  and  that  his  play  exists  solely  for  the 


240  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

purpose  of  bodying  forth  a  single  conception 
of  certain  persons  acting  out  a  certain  set  of 
incidents  until  they  reach  a  conclusive  outcome. 
In  any  case,  the  finished  product  does  not  exist 
as  a  vehicle  for  the  author's  parade  of  his  wit. 
Moreover,  to  attempt  to  be  epigrammatic  or 
witty  when  it  is  not  one's  forte  to  be  so,  is  to 
engage  in  a  very  dangerous  procedure.  Clever 
or  witty  dialogue,  scintillating  with  epigrams, 
repartee  and  double  entendre,  is  not  written 
by  everybody.  Too  frequently,  the  real  epi- 
grammatist, or  the  humorist,  is  vei;y  liable  to 
let  his  clever  lines  swamp  and  obscure  his  plot 
and  dramatic  action.  The  playwright  should 
keep  in  mind  that  dialogue  is  not  an  end  in  con- 
structing his  play,  but  only  a  means ;  and  that 
funny  lines  do  not  necessarily  make  fun  for 
the  audience.  Too  often  any  attempt  at  wit  in 
dialogue  results  in  little  more  than  frank  artifi- 
ciality, clever  conceits,  and  philosophical  reflec- 
tions, none  of  which  have  any  organic  function 
in  the  play. 

Lastly,  dramatic  dialogue  must  be  appro- 
priate to  the  character — and,  if  it  is  appro- 
priate to  the  character,  it  will  be  appropriate  to 
the  theme,  plot,  and  tone  of  the  play.  Speech 
must  fit  personality  and  emotional  functioning; 
just  as  characters  differ,  so  must  their  dia- 
logue diff^er.  Frivolous  speeches  come  from 
frivolous    persons ;    rugged    utterances     from 


Dramatic  Dialogue  241 

those  who  are  rugged  in  personality ;  and  pol- 
ished speech  comes  from  the  elite  and  cultured. 
The  speech  of  an  angry  and  irritable  man  is  dif- 
ferent from  that  of  a  mild-tempered  one ;  a  mod- 
est and  retiring  woman  converses  in  a  manner 
different  from  that  of  the  one  who  is  shrewish. 
The  Poet  in  Lord  Dunsany's  "The  Lost  Silk 
Hat"  speaks  differently  from  the  Laborer  or  the 
Clerk  in  the  same  play;  and  the  manner  of 
speech  of  Richard  Fallon  in  Richard  Harding 
Davis's  "Blackmail"  varies  from  that  of  the 
motherly  Mrs.  Howard  and  the  villainous  Louis 
Mohun.  The  blase  Mrs.  Chrystal-Fole  and  the 
work-a-day  girl,  Jenny,  in  J.  Hartley  Manners' 
"Happiness,"  are  essentially  different  charac- 
ters and  they  speak  differently,  too.  Ranch- 
men, vendors,  clergymen,  social  belles,  Hebrew 
gentlemen,  seamen,  should  be  as  clearly  differ- 
entiated in  their  dialogue  as  they  are  distinctive 
in  personalities.  Any  bit  of  (dialogue  that 
does  not  fit  the  character  is  a  fundamentally 
false  dramatic  note. 

The  secret  of  writing  good  dialogue  lies  al- 
most wholly  in  the  ability  of  the  playwright  to 
put  himself  into  the  place  of  the  character.  To 
think  and  to  feel  as  the  character  would  think 
and  feel  when  placed  in  a  given  situation  and 
then  to  express  the  gist  of  that  thinking  and 
feeling  is  his  real  problem.  He  must  ever  keep 
in  mind  how  his  character  is  to  appear  to  the 


242  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

audience  and  how  it  is  to  affect  the  assembled 
group.  The  spectators  will  grasp  the  essential 
values  of  the  sentences,  if  they  are  short,  direct, 
crisp,  rather  than  long,  involved,  and  loose- 
jointed.  He  must  remember,  also,  that  although 
in  ordinary  life  conversation  shifts  rapidly  and 
irrelevantly  from  topic  to  topic,  fiction  dia- 
logue must  ever  be  so  directed  that  it  will  be 
progressive  to  a  given  end.  In  active  life  dia- 
logue meanders  leisurely,  but  on  the  stage  it 
never  does.  Indeed,  "The  work  of  the  theatre," 
says  Sarcey,  "is  above  all  a  work  of  condensa- 
tion. The  mind  of  the  author  must  make  all 
the  reflections,  his  heart  must  experience  all 
the  sentiments  the  subject  comprises,  but  on 
condition  that  he  give  to  the  spectator  only  the 
substance  of  them.  This  phrase  should  sum  up 
twenty  pages ;  that  word  should  contain  the 
gist  of  twenty  phrases.  It  is  for  the  playgoer, 
who  is  our  collaborator  much  more  than  we 
realize,  to  find  in  the  little  that  is  said  to  him 
all  that  which  is  not  said ;  and  he  will  never 
fail  to  do  so,  so  long  as  the  phrase  is  just  and 
word  true." 


CHAPTER  XI 

STAGE   DIRECTION    AND   STAGE    SETTING 

The  Function  of  Stage  Direction 

Economy  of  time  and  of  means  is  a  funda- 
mental precept  in  the  One-act  play.  No  drama 
aims  to  tell  a  complete  narrative  in  all  its  de- 
tails ;  it  gets  its  effect  by  presenting  only  the 
crucial  points  and  crises  of  a  given  dramatic 
story  in  such  a  way  that  they  connote  and  sug- 
gest the  whole.  Real  drama  is  not  leisurely, 
but  it  is  characterized  by  rapid  and  tense  ac- 
tion and  by  economic  condensation.  Because 
of  this,  only  the  ess-^ntials  of  a  given  story  are 
selected  for  the  plot ;  dialogue  is  distilled  to  the 
essence  of  what  otherwise  would  be  tedious  and 
commonplace  speech ;  only  a  few  dominant 
traits  of  character  are  used;  and  the  play- 
wright is  obliged  to  tell  as  much  of  his  story  as 
he  can  in  objective,  concrete  actions  that  speak 
louder  than  words.  "The  playwright,"  says 
Charlton  Andrews  in  "Tlie  Technique  of  Play 
Writing,"  "will  do  well  to  make  sure  early  in  his 
labors  that  he  is  telling  his  story  concretely  to 
the  eye.     This  is  what  especially  counts  in  our 

243 


244  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

day.  A  little  surreptitious,  dishonest  move- 
ment on  the  part  of  a  protesting  *saint'  will 
convey  volumes  of  information  on  the  subject  of 
his  hypocrisy.  All  that  he  can  possibly  say,  or 
that  others  can  say  about  him,  may  not  ac- 
complish half  so  much.  The  keen-eyed  drama- 
tist looks  about  him  in  life  for  these  character- 
revealing  motions  which  are  the  essence  of 
drama."  To  present  with  greatest  economy  of 
time  and  means  a  picture  of  life  in  verisimili- 
tude and  in  such  way  as  to  provoke  the  desired 
response  in  the  audience  is  the  problem  of  the 
playwright.  In  order  that  he  may  secure  this 
end,  he  uses  every  means  at  his  disposal, — 
character,  incident,  situation,  plot,  dialogue, 
stage  direction,  and  stage  setting. 

One  of  the  most  significant  aspects  of  the 
work  of  playwriting  is  the  effective  handling  of 
characters  on  the  stage.  The  dramatist  must 
so  handle  the  personages  in  the  play  that  they 
will  evolve  the  plot  movement  and  will  also,  at 
the  same  time,  reveal  their  dominant  traits  in 
objective  and  connotative  demeanor.  The  au- 
thor must  so  use  his  characters  that  there  is 
a  constantly  progressive  plot-action ;  and  he 
must  get  them  off  and  on  the  stage  at  sin- 
gularly opportune  times  and  in  most  effective 
manner.  He  must,  by  interpretative  stage  di- 
rections, move  his  characters  from  one  part  of 
the  stage  to  another  as  occasion  may  necessi- 


Stage  Direction — Stage  Setting  245 

tate;  and  he  must,  in  like  manner,  reveal  the 
peculiarities  of  his  characters  as  well  as  indi- 
cate their  individual  temperament  and  conduct. 
A  play  is  a  concrete  picture  in  progressive  ac- 
tion that  appeals,  very  largely,  directly  to  the 
eye.  Objective  and  concrete  stage  direction  is 
not  only  an  economical  aid  in  making  clear  and 
effective  the  dramatic  movement  of  a  play,  but 
it  is  also  a  very  vital  factor  in  giving  to  the 
drama  a  sense  of  verisimilitude. 

Stage  direction  has  ever  to  be  considered  as 
an  organic  element  in  any  plot  movement ;  it 
is  a  structural  factor  quite  as  much  as  is  dia- 
logue. Every  entrance,  every  exit,  every  mo^'e- 
ment  to  any  part  of  the  stage,  and  any  .sig^ 
nificant  bit  of  objective  demeanor  of  a  char- 
acter, is  an  organic  part  of  the  plot-develop- 
ment. Indeed,  the  presentation  of  plot  and  of 
personality  is  almost  wholly  by  means  of  the 
dialogue  that  is  spoken,  and  by  means  of  the 
movements  and  decorum  of  the  characters  as 
they  appear  on  the  stage.  Sometimes  dialogue 
can  secure  the  desired  effect,  sometimes  only 
stage  business  suffices ;  or,  again,  the  two  in 
combination  is  the  most  effective  and  economic 
means.  In  any  case,  stage  direction  is  an  or- 
ganic and  integral  part  of  a  play;  it  has  a 
distinctive  function  to  perform.  Any  stage 
direction  that  does  not  advance  the  plot,  or 


246  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

does   not   interpret   and   reveal   character   has 
no  justification  for  its  existence. 

In  writing  the  stage  direction  for  a  One-act 
play,  the  dramatist  should  ever  keep  in  mind  the 
topography  and  the  geography  of  the  scene  in 
which  his  play  is  laid.  This  comprises  not  only 
the  scene  directly  before  him,  in  which  the  im- 
mediate action  takes  place,  but  also  the  adjoin- 
ing territory.  If  the  scene  is  an  interior,  there 
are  adjacent  rooms  and  hallways  to  be  kept  in 
mind ;  and  if  the  setting  is  out  of  doors,  there 
is  usually  something  of  interest  in  juxtaposi- 
tion. The  playwright  must  not  have  characters 
enter  from  wrong  directions  or  by  doors 
through  which  they  would  not  logically  pass: 
if  a  character  enters  from  a  garden  supposed  to 
be  at  the  left,  he  should  not  enter  from  the 
right;  and  if  a  person  is  supposed  to  pass  into 
the  drawing-room,  he  should  not  be  made  to 
go  through  the  door  leading  into  the  bedroom 
or  leading  into  the  kitchen.  Again,  two  char- 
acters must  not  be  allowed  to  meet  in  the  hall- 
way or  in  the  street  when  they  are  not  supposed 
to  see  each  other ;  and,  if  a  character  is  to  go 
on  an  errand  of  some  sort,  he  must  be  given 
time  enough  to  give  at  least  a  semblance  of 
having  done  so.  Stage  direction  demands  stud- 
ied attention ;  in  no  case  should  it  be  haphazard. 
Inaccurate  stage  direction  spoils  the  whole  ef- 
fect  pf   verisimilitude.      Only   when   the   play- 


Stage  Direction — Stage  Setting  247 

Wright  keeps  in  mind  the  details  of  topography 
and  of  geography  of  his  scene,  can  he  hope  to 
be  effective  and  free  from  glaring  inconsisten- 
cies. 

In  general,  the  important  function  of  stage 
direction  is  to  condense  the  larger  parts  of  the 
dramatic  story  to  their  essence  and  to  present 
the  plot  as  objectively  and  as  wordlessly  as  is 
consistent  with  clearness  and  effectiveness.  Few 
devotees  of  the  theatre  can  recall  what  they 
have  heard  spoken  on  the  stage,  but  many  can 
well  recount  what  they  have  seen.  Every 
theatre-goer  knows  that  the  actions  and  stage 
business  of  characters  are  often  a  more  effec- 
tive source  of  both  comedy  and  tragedy  than  is 
dialogue.  Moreover,  every  one  knows  from  ex- 
perience how  tedious  and  boresome  is  dialogue 
that  gets  nowhere  and  that  narrates  what 
should  be  presented  in  concrete  objective  action. 
It  is  the  function  of  stage  business  to  do  what 
dialogue  cannot  do,  and  to  condense  to  a  min- 
imum what  might  otherwise  be  a  long  drawn  out 
dramatic  narrative. 

Frequently,  stage  direction  is  used  to  make 
thoroughly  clear  those  plot  elements  which  dia- 
logue could  not  well  present.  Richard  Harding 
Davis's  "Blackmail"  has  three  or  four  masterly 
bits  of  such  stage  direction.  To  make  clear 
to  the  audience  just  how  Fallon  is  going  to 
shoot  Mohun  and  how  he  is  going  to  conceaJ 


248  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

any  evidence  of  cold-blooded  murder,  the  fol- 
lowing* is  put  into  the  play, — 

(He  crosses  to  door  centre,  and  taking  key 
from  the  bedroom  side,  places  it  in  keyhole  on 
side  of  door  in  view  of  the  audience.  He  turns 
the  key  several  times.  He  takes  the  revolver 
from  his  left  hip  pocket  and  holding  it  in  his 
right  hand,  rehearses  shooting  under  his  left 
arm  through  his  coat  which  he  holds  from  him 
by  the  fingers  of  his  left  hand.  Shifting  revolv- 
er to  his  left  hand,  he  takes  the  automatic 
from  his  right  hip  pocket,  and  goes  through  the 
motions  of  firing  with  both  guns  in  opposite 
directions.  His  pantomime  must  show  how  he 
intends  making  use  of  both  guns  at  the  same 
time,  using  one  apparently  upon  himself,  and 
the  other,  in  earnest,  upon  another  person.  He 
replaces  the  revolvers  in  his  pockets.  There  is 
a  knock  at  the  door.) 

Again,  in  J.  Hartley  Manners'  "Happiness," 
stage  direction  makes  clear  what  no  amount  of 
dialogue  would  be  adequate  to  present. 

{Jenny  undoes  the  bundles,  humming  vigor- 
ously all  the  time.  She  takes  the  hat  out  first 
and  looks  at  it  with  a  gasp  of  joy.  Then  she 
takes  out  the  dress.  She  stares  at  it  with  wide 
open  eyes.  She  thinks  a  moment,  then  listens 
intently — makes  up  her  mind,  throws  off  her 
jacket  and  slips  the  dress  on.  She  laughs  glee- 
fully, whips  off  her  hat  and  puts  on  the  new 


Stage  Direction — Stage  Setting  249 

one  and  runs  to  the  mirror  to  see  her  reflection. 
Mrs.  Pole  comes  in  quietly  behind  her  and 
stands  looking  at  her.  Jenny  sees  Mrs.  Pole 
in  the  mirror;  she  looks  at  her  in  horror,  then 
turns  guiltily,  snatches  off  the  hat  and  begins 
struggling  to  get  out  of  the  dress.) 

More  often,  however,  stage  direction  and  dia- 
logue are  used  in  conjunction  to  secure  the  de- 
sired effect  of  condensation  and  clearness. 
Thus,  in  August  Strindberg's  "Countess  Julie," 
the  suggestion  of  the  idea  of  Juliets  suicide  is 
made  very  effective. 

Julie:  What  would  you  do  in  my  place? 

Jean:  In  your  place — wait.  As  a  noble  lady, 
as  a  woman — fallen — I  don't  know.  Yes,  now 
I  know. 

Julie:  (She  takes  up  razor  from  table  and 
makes  gestures  saying.)     This-f" 

Jean:   Yes. 
And  later  in  the  same  play — 

Jean:  (Takes  razor  and  puts  it  in  her  hand.) 
— Go  now  while  it  is  light — out  to  the  hay  loft 
— and — (He  whispers  in  her  ear.) 
— is  most  highly  effective  because  of  its  grew- 
some  suggestion.  Again,  Marion  Craig  Went- 
worth,  in  "War  Brides,"  by  a  happy  combina- 
tion of  dialogue  and  stage  direction  makes 
clear  what  otherwise  would  be  a  difficult  matter 
to  handle. 

Mother:  Hedwig  has  told  you  nothing? 


250  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

Amelia:  No. 

Mother:  Ah,  she  is  a  strange  girl!  She  asked 
me  to  keep  it  a  secret, — I  don't  know  why,  but 
now  I  think  you  should  know.     See! 

(Holds  up  tiny  baby  garments.) 

Sometimes  direction  is  used  to  break  up  long 
telephone  conversations  or  to  relieve  what  might 
otherwise  be  monotonous  and  uninteresting  nar- 
rative comment.  In  J.  Hartley  Manners'  "The 
Day  of  Dupes,"  the  Politician  speaks  thus, — 

The  Politician:  (looking  at  flowers)  My 
bouquet!  (Smells  it.)  Beautiful!  Dear  me,  dear 
me!  (Puts  it  down — sees  another  bouquet — 
takes  it  up.)  H'm!  Another!  How  distressing! 
Dear,  dear.  (He  places  it  on  a  lower  shelf  of  the 
revolving  bookcase.)  Quite  so — quite  so!  (Sur- 
veys his  own  bouquet,  with  satisfaction,  turns 
to  mantel-piece,  sees  the  framed  portrait — takes 
it  in  his  hand.)  Oh  dear,  dear,  dear — (Turns 
his  head  away.)  How  dreadful.  Shocking! 
How  could — she  be  photographed  like  that ! 
How  could  she!  (Fixes  in  eyeglass — examines 
it  closely — gradually  a  pleased  smile  comes 
across  his  face.)  Dear  me!  Wonderfully  like 
her!  Superb  woman — superb!  All  the  same  I 
wish  she  wouldn't —  (looking  around).  I  wish 
she  wouldn't — ah!  (Goes  to  revolving  book- 
case and  places  photo  on  lower  shelf,  near  the 
second  bouquet.)  That's  better.  Such  a  pity 
to  have — er — that — in  so — prominent  a  posi- 


Stage  Direction — Stage  Setting  251 

tion!  Quite  so — quite  so!  Dear  me!  (The 
clock  strikes  nine.)  Nine.  I  must  be  in  my  seat 
by  10:30  to-night.  The  debate  opens  at  eleven. 
(Stops  before  easel.)  Beautiful!  Very  beau- 
tiful! Her  own  work  too!  (Takes  out  notes, 
looks  at  them,  then  speaks  from  memory.)  "The 
man  who  gives  his  life  wholly  and  solely  to  his 
country's  welfare — must  be  ready  at  any  and  at 
all  times  to — to —  (His  eye  falls  on  the  bouquet 
resting  on  the  lounge.) — to  his  country's  wel- 
fare— "  (Fixes  his  eyeglass,  takes  bouquet  and 
examines  it  and  reads  card  attached.)  Dear, 
dear — this  is  very  unnecessary.  I  wish — she 
didn't  know  quite — so — many — people — (De- 
posits it  on  second  shelf  of  bookcase,  then  re- 
sumes his  speech.)  " — to  his  country's  welfare 
— must  be  prepared  at  any  and  at  all  times  to 
sacrifice  his  home,  his  kindred,  the  dearest  wishes 
that  bind  him  to — (Stares  at  bouquet  on  lid  of 

piano.) — dearest     wishes     that "     Faugh! 

(Examines  card.)  Poetry!  She  has  a  large 
circle  of — friends.     A  very  large  circle. 

It  is  very  interesting  to  note  how  this  ac- 
companying stage  direction  indicates  movement 
from  one  part  of  the  stage  to  another,  how  it 
suggests  temperament  in  given  cases,  and  how 
it  reveals  the  real  personality  of  the  Politician. 

Most  frequently,  however,  stage  direction  is 
used  to  indicate  the  emotional  functioning  ac- 
companying a  given  speech  or  action.     Often 


252  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

such  direction  serves  a  number  of  ends :  it  may 
suggest  the  temperament  of  the  character  at 
the  moment,  it  may  emphasize  a  trait  of  per- 
sonality, and  it  may  indicate  appropriate  phys- 
ical action.  Thus  pensiveli/,  sternly,  sharply, 
coquettishly,  gallantly,  cold  and  unmoved,  ec- 
statically, shyly,  bitterly,  puzzled,  sententiously, 
poignantly,  alarmed,  not  understanding,  offend- 
ed, uncomfortably,  with  a  fierce  primitive  cry 
of  pain,  reluctantly,  beaming  proudly  through- 
out, trying  to  find  words,  persistently,  with  a 
sigh,  angered,  heatedly,  pompously,  modestly, 
cuttingly,  and  dozens  of  others  taken  at  random 
from  contemporary  plays,  are  highly  suggestive 
and  connotative.  Almost  every  one  is  indicative 
of  both  the  emotional  functioning  and  the  per- 
sonal demeanor  that  accompanies  the  speech 
with  which  it  is  used.  In  J.  Hartley  Man- 
ners' "Just  as  Well,"  the  stuttering  Captain 
Trawbridge  speaks  thus, — 

Doleen:  Why,  what  has  happened? 

Captain  Trawbridge:  (Growing  excited)  It 
c-c-can't  be.  The  f-f-fact  is,  I'm  a  fool.  (  Drops 
one  of  the  books  ;  picks  it  up.)  I  m-m-mean  I've 
b-b-b-been  a  f-f-fool.  (Drops  the  other.) 
D-d-damn  !    I  beg  your  pardon. 

Doleen:  What  do  you  mean.'' 

Captain  Trawbridge:  (Replaces  the  books  on 
the  table  and  walks  toward  Doleen.)  Doleen! 
I  c-c-can't  m-marry  you  on  F-F-Fridaj. 


Stage  Direction — Stage  Setting  253 

Here  the  accompanying  stage  direction  reveals 
temperament  and  personality  and  also  indicates 
suggestive  physical  action. 

The  characteristic  aspect  of  drama  Is  action. 
The  playwright  is  obliged  to  see  to  it  that  he 
keeps  his  characters  doing  something  all  the 
time,  something,  too,  that  is  organic  in  the  plot- 
development.  It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  say 
that  this  does  not  mean  that  the  author  should 
fill  up  his  stage  pictures  with  needless  and  aim- 
less running  about  of  characters ;  on  the  other 
hand,  however,  it  does  mean  that  something  im- 
portant in  the  dramatic  action  must  be  taking 
place  all  the  time.  Never  should  a  character  or 
a  group  of  characters  be  left  out  of  the  pic- 
ture; the  dramatist  must  ever  keep  in  mind  just 
what  each  character  or  each  group  is  doing. 
He  must  handle  all  the  dramatis  personce  all 
the  time.  He  must  never  lose  sight  of  them ;  he 
must  never  leave  a  character  to  appear  as  if  he 
had  forgotten  it.  The  positions  and  the  rela- 
tions among  the  characters  in  each  succeeding 
situation  should  be  clearly  visualized  by  the 
author.  In  no  case  should  the  stage  be  left 
empty,  nor  should  it  ever  be  unnecessarily  over- 
crowded. Reception  groups  must  be  handled 
quite  as  carefully  as  the  leading  characters;  a 
reception  group  may  be  retired  to  the  rear  of 
the  stage  or  to  one  side  of  it,  but  the  practical 
dramatist  never  forgets  that  it  is  there.     Every 


254  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Flay 

character  or  group  of  characters  must  be  used 
at  all  times, — in  conversation,  in  stage  action 
and  stage  direction,  in  plot  development,  or  in 
fitting  up  or  in  dressing  the  stage  picture.  To 
secure  these  effects,  stage  direction  is  at  the 
bidding  of  the  playwright. 

The  question  of  mhen  to  use  stage  business 
is  a  matter  that  must  be  determined  by  the 
author.  Each  individual  case  is  a  separate  dra- 
matic problem.  There  is  no  general  rule;  a 
few  suggestions,  however,  are  not  amiss.  In  no 
case,  should  stage  direction  be  inserted  for 
that  which,  from  the  context,  is  wholly  obvious ; 
and  in  no  case  should  any  be  used  that  is  not 
an  organic  and  structural  part  of  the  play. 
Stage  direction  must  never  be  superimposed  and 
never  be  made  a  mere  adjunct.  Again,  it  should 
never  be  used  to  indicate  a  purely  physical  ges- 
ture which  any  actor  would  invent  for  himself. 
Unless  the  stage  direction  is  conducive  to  fur- 
ther clearness,  to  condensation,  or  to  added  ef- 
fectiveness, it  should  not  be  employed.  Stage 
direction  should  never  accompany  a  bit  of  dia- 
logue when  the  speech  itself  makes  clear  how  it 
should  be  uttered.  On  the  other  hand,  if  there 
is  any  question  at  all  as  to  what  the  course  of 
the  action  should  he  or  what  the  emotional  value 
of  any  speech  should  be,  the  playwright  must 
not  fail  to  make  use  of  stage  direction  of  a 
suggestive  and  explanatory  kind.     Not  infre- 


Stage  Direction — Stage  Setting  255 

quentl}'  a  speech,  unaccompanied  by  stage  di- 
rections, might  be  interpreted  in  two  or  three 
different  ways ;  in  such  an  event,  stage  direction 
of  such  kind  should  be  employed  that  there  will 
be  no  question  as  to  the  interpretation  the  au- 
thor desires  one  to  use.  Only  when  it  em- 
phasizes, makes  m.ore  clear,  or  condenses,  is  the 
addition  of  stage  direction  justifiable. 

Furthermore,  the  kind  of  stage  business  to 
be  employed  in  any  given  case  must  be  de- 
termined by  the  individual  circumstances.  The 
dramatist  must  never  lose  sight  of  the  effect 
he  wishes  to  get ;  and  then  he  must  work  with 
that  constantly  in  view.  In  general,  purely 
realistic  and  physical  stage  direction  is  to  be 
excluded.  Of  course,  any  direction  as  to  the 
movements  of  characters  from  one  part  of  the 
stage  to  another  or  as  to  the  exits  and  en- 
trances, must  be  rather  direct  and  prosaic 
statements  of  real  physical  action.  On  the 
other  hand,  slap-stick  methods  of  any  kind  are 
wholly  antiquated.  Moreover,  no  stage  direc- 
tion should  be  used  that  attracts  attention  to 
itself;  it  should  never  be  so  extravagant,  so 
bizarre,  or  so  difficult  that  it  emphasizes  it- 
self rather  than  directs  attention  to  the  play. 
Stage  direction,  to  be  effective,  must  be  the 
body  of  the  material's  soul.  The  material  must 
suggest  the  business  and  the  action,  so  that  the 
one  will  seem  to  be  made  alive  by  the  other.    Un- 


256  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

less  it  is  appropriate,  unless  it  is  complemental 
to  the  dialogue,  unless  it  is  interpretative  and 
suggestive,  it  is  scarcely  the  kind  that  is  an 
organic  part  of  the  play. 

Good  stage  direction  is  not  always  an  easy 
thing  to  conceive  and  by  no  means  always  easy 
to  compose.  Invariably  it  is  condensed,  and  it 
is  highly  connotative.  Experience  in  laboratory 
work  in  play-writing  has  shown  that  a  good 
way  to  proceed  is  to  write  out  pretty  full  dia- 
logue and  stage  directions  in  the  preliminary 
drafts.  After  this,  there  should  be  a  process  of 
elimination  of  the  unessentials,  and  a  distilla- 
tion of  what  remains.  Sometimes  an  emotion, 
an  idea,  or  a  plot  factor  can  be  condensed  and 
best  expressed  in  a  speech,  and  again  these  can 
be  made  most  clear  and  effective  in  a  bit  of 
stage  direction.  More  often,  however,  the  two 
are  used  in  complemental  conjunction.  In 
general,  the  phrasing  of  stage  direction  should 
be  simplified,  direct,  short,  and  highly  connota- 
tive. It  should  never  be  too  long,  too  prolix,  or 
too  diffuse.  In  no  case  should  it  be  vague  in 
meaning.  Too  much  or  too  little  stage  direc- 
tion reveals  the  ignorance  or  inexperience  of 
the  playwright;  and  no  author  who  takes  him- 
self at  all  seriously  will  use  the  antiquated  R.  U. 
E.,  L.  C,  etc.  It  should  always  be  written  in 
the  present  tense  and  in  the  third  person  and 
should  be  idiomatically  correct.     The  drama- 


Stage  Direction — Stage  Setting  257 

tist  will  do  well  to  give  unusual  attention  to  the 
phrasing  of  his  stage  direction.  It  should  be 
so  expressed  that  it  always  adds  a  connotative 
significance  to  a  line  or  to  a  dramatic  situa- 
tion. Unless  it  elucidates,  unless  it  is  a  dra- 
matic force,  it  has  no  justification  for  appear- 
ing in  the  play. 

The  Function  of  Stage  Setting 

Times  have  materially  changed  since  the  days 
of  Shakespeare  when  stage  setting,  in  the  mod- 
ern acceptation  of  the  term,  was  practically 
unknown.  There  is  a  striking  contrast  between 
the  sceneless  and  uncovered  stage  of  Elizabethan 
times  and  that  of  almost  perfect  illusion  of  the 
present-day  insceniermig.  The  work  of  Gordon 
Craig  and  of  Adolph  Appia  has  not  been  in  vain. 
Stage  setting  has  come  to  be  one  of  the  finest 
of  arts.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  stage  setting  is 
no  longer  for  decorative  purposes  only;  nor  is 
scenery  meant  to  be  nothing  more  than  "an  un- 
obtrusive yet  decorative  background  against 
which  a  play  is  played."  A  setting  has  ceased 
to  be  merely  a  suggestive  background  against 
which  the  figures  stand  out  in  high  relief.  Now- 
adays, the  stage  aims  to  present  a  complete 
and  organic  picture  with  plot,  character,  dia- 
logue, setting,  and  lighting,  all  harmoniously 
cooperating  to  a  given  singleness  of  impression. 


258  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

To-day  the  stage  has  for  its  ideal  a  picture  with 
the  characters  not  a  little  out  of  the  picture, 
but  completely  in  and  of  it.  The  stage  setting 
exists  as  an  organic  part  of  the  play.  If  it 
is  designed  or  written  for  any  other  purpose 
than  to  be  an  integral  and  unifying  factor  in 
the  drama,  it  is  not  a  stage  setting  in  the  cur- 
rent acceptation  of  the  term. 

A  One-act  play  written  in  one  mood  and 
presented  in  another  is  chaos  and  not  art.  Ap- 
propriateness and  harmony  between  the  play 
and  the  scene  is  the  modern  demand  of  the 
theatre.  Artistic  fitness  is  the  desideratum. 
One  of  the  first  requirements  of  a  setting  for  a 
One-act  play  is  that  it  shall  emphasize  the 
dominant  tone  of  the  whole  play.  The  main 
function  of  the  scene  is  to  direct  attention  to 
the  play  rather  than  direct  attention  to  itself. 
The  two  should  be  complemental  and  organic  in 
their  relations.  A  scene  must  not  be  too  large 
or  too  small;  too  detailed  or  too  simple;  the 
color  scheme,  the  design,  the  properties,  and 
especially  the  lighting  effects,  must  be  in  closest 
harmony  with  the  dominant  idea  and  tone  of  the 
play. 

The  practical  dramatist,  nowadays,  conceives 
his  setting  and  his  play  as  complemental  ele- 
ments ;  the  spirit  and  tone  of  the  one  is  the 
spirit  and  tone  of  the  other.  If  one  will  study 
Constance  Mackay's  "The  Beau  of  Bath,"  a 


Stage  Direction — Stage  Setting  259 

most  delightful  dramatic  episode,  one  will  find 
that  it  is  rich  in  all  the  delicacy,  charm,  and 
fine  sense  of  decorum,  that  characterized  the 
elite  life  of  the  eighteenth  century.  The  whole 
is  set  in  the  following  scene : 

Furniture  and  hangings  of  faded  splendor. 
Candles  gleam  in  silver  sconces.  Christmas 
holly  hangs  here  and  there.  At  the  left  a  fire 
burns  on  the  hearth,  first  with  small  blue  danc- 
ing flames,  then  deepening  to  a  rosy  glow.  At 
the  right  there  is  an  inlaid  desk  with  candles 
burning  on  it.  Toward  background  a  door 
opening  into  another  room  of  the  apartment. 
In  the  centre  background  hangs  the  life-sized 
portrait  of  a  lady  dressed  in  the  fashion  of  the 
early  eighteenth  century.  Her  dress  is  a  shim- 
mer of  rose-colored  satin.  Beneath  her  faintly 
powdered  hair  her  face  is  young,  dawn-tinted, 
starry-eyed.  There  are  no  other  portraits  in 
the  room. 

It  is  noteworthy  that  the  significant  details 
and  the  delicate  colors  harmonize  with  the  spirit 
and  tone  of  the  play  itself;  the  one  cannot  be 
separated  from  the  other.  The  two  are  comple- 
mental  and  organic.  Again,  if  one  will  study 
the  settings  of  Thomas  H.  Dickinson's  "In  Hos- 
pital" and  of  George  Middlcton's  "Criminals," 
one  will  find  that  the  former  has  the  tone  and 
atmosphere  of  formal  cheerfulness  and  the  lat- 
ter of  formal  and  quiet  cosiness,  both  of  which 


260  Technique  of  the  One-Act  Play 

are  the  dominant  tones  of  the  two  plays.  Fur- 
thermore, an  examination  of  Alfred  Sutro's 
"The  Correct  Thing,"  shows  it  to  be  a  glimpse 
into  the  private  life  of  Kitty  Bellany  and 
D'Arcy  Galbraith.  The  quiet  and  private  ex- 
istence, the  somewhat  intimate  associations,  and 
the  events  following  a  theatre  party,  are  put 
into  the  following  setting: 

The  drawing-room  of  a  pleasant  little  house 
that  lies  hidden  away  in  a  St.  John's  Wood  gar- 
den. Its  atmosphere  is  exceedingly  bright  and 
cheerful:  the  furniture  and  pictures,  curtains 
and  hangings,  all  bearing  evidence  of  artistic 
and  tasteful  selection.  A  semi-grand  piano, 
with  a  harp  by  its  side,  occupies  one  comer; 
in  another  a  revolving  bookcase  stands,  laden 
with  books,  whose  covers  proclaim  them  of  a 
somewhat  serious  nature,  while  others  fill  vari- 
ous little  dainty  shelves  let  into  the  wall.  An 
old-fashioned  writing  desk  stands  by  the  win- 
dow. On  a  small  table^  in  the  centre  of  the 
room,  supper  is  laid  for  two.  A  bright  fire 
burns  in  the  grate.  The  hour  is  close  upon 
midnight. 

Sometimes  the  playwright  may  conceive  a 
setting  which  not  only  emphasizes  the  tone  of 
the  play  but  also  reveals  something  of  the  per- 
sonalities and  habits  of  life  of  the  characters. 
A  very  happy  combination  of  these  two  effects 


Stage  Direction — Stage  Setting  261 

is  in  the  setting  of  Sir  James  M.  Barrie's  "Pan- 
taloon." 

We  should  now  be  able  to  reconstitute  Pan- 
taloon's parlor.  It  is  agreeably  stuffy,  with 
two  windows  and  a  recess  between  them,  from 
which  one  may  peep  both  ways  for  the  police- 
man. The  furniture  is  in  horse-hair,  no  rents 
showing,  because  careful  Columbine  has  covered 
them  with  antimacassars.  All  the  chairs  (but 
not  the  sofa)  are  as  sound  of  limb  as  they  look 
except  one,  and  Columbine,  who  is  as  light  as 
an  air  balloon,  can  sit  on  tliis  one  even  with 
her  feet  off  the  floor.  Though  the  time  is  sum- 
mer there  is  a  fire  burning,  so  that  Pantaloon 
need  never  eat  his  sausages  raw,  which  he  might 
do  inadvertently  if  Columbine  did  not  take  them 
gently  from  his  hand.  There  is  a  cosy  round 
table  with  a  wax-cloth  cover  adhering  to  it  like 
a  sticking-plaster,  and  this  table  is  set  for  tea. 
Histrionic  dignity  is  given  to  the  room  by  a 
large  wicker  trunk  in  which  Pantaloon's  treas- 
ures are  packed  when  he  travels  by  rail,  and  on 
it  is  a  printed  intimation  that  he  is  one  of  the 
brightest  wits  on  earth.  Columbine  could  be 
crushed,  concertina-like,  into  half  of  this  trunk, 
and  it  may  be  that  she  sometimes  travels  thus 
to  save  her  ticket.  Between  the  windows  hangs 
a  glass  case,  such  as  those  at  inns  wherein  Pis- 
cator  preserves  his  stuffed  pike,  but  this  one 
contains  a  poker.    It  is  interesting  to  note  that 


262  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

Pantaloon  is  sufficiently  catholic  in  his  tastes 
to  spare  a  favorable  eye  for  other  arts  than 
his  own.  There  are  various  paintings  on  the 
walls,  all  of  himself,  with  the  exception  of  a 
small  one  of  his  wife.  These  represent  him  not 
in  humorous  act  but  for  all  time,  as,  for  in- 
stance, leaning  on  a  bracket  and  reading  a  book, 
with  one  finger  laid  lightly  against  his  nose. 

A  good  precept,  nowadays,  is  that,  in  stage 
setting,  the  author  should  not  aim  at  realism 
or  at  idealism,  but  rather  at  suggestion  and 
connotation.  Local  color  and  bold  realism  are 
no  longer  so  much  in  vogue.  The  dramatist 
should  aim  at  getting  tone  and  quality  in  his 
scene  rather  than  accuracy  of  realistic  detail. 
Verisimilitude  is  not  the  essential  requirement. 
On  the  contrary,  design,  color,  properties,  cos- 
tumes, should  be  so  selected  and  so  combined  as 
to  secure  a  tone  and  quality  that  harmonize 
with  the  dominant  note  of  the  play.  One  scene 
suggests  work,  another  idleness ;  one  suggests 
quietness,  another  strife  and  unrest ;  one  sug- 
gests warmth  and  optimism,  another  gloom  and 
even  foreboding.  In  any  given  case,  the  details 
of  the  setting  must  be  chosen  for  their  sugges- 
tive power,  for  their  value  and  their  quality 
rather  than  for  their  verisimilitude  or  for  their 
amount. 

Thus  in  the  setting  for  George  Middleton's 
"The  Cheat  of  Pity,"  the  details  selected— a 


Stage  Direction — Stage  Setting  263 

dark  room,  rain  heard  pattering  against  tlic 
window  panes,  fire  low  in  the  grate,  fashionably 
furnished  drawing-room,  high  ceilings,  draper- 
ies, etc., — give  a  distinct  quality  and  tone  to 
the  scene. 

The  room  is  dark ;  outside  the  rain  is  heard 
pattering  against  the  panes ;  the  fire  is  low  in 
the  grate  at  the  left,  yet  betrays  the  general 
outlines  of  a  fashionably  furnished  drawing- 
room  with  high  ceilings,  tastefully  papered 
walls,  and  long  windows  at  the  right.  In  the 
back,  curtains  drape  the  archway,  and  dimly  the 
stairs  are  seen  beyond,  crossing  down  out  of 
sight.  An  elaborate  chandelier  with  glass  pen- 
dants hangs  in  the  centre. 

Again,  the  setting  to  Arthur  Schnitzler's 
"Dying  Pangs"  contains  details  which,  while 
few  in  number,  are  quite  suggestive  of  quality 
and  are  highly  effective  when  seen  on  the  stage. 

One  spring  afternoon  it  is  growing  dusk  in 
AnatoVs  room,  though  through  the  open  window 
the  broad  expanse  of  sky  still  shines  clear  and 
blue. 

In  both  these  cases  the  tone  and  quality  of  the 
scenes  are  in  harmony  with  the  tone  and  qual- 
ity of  the  dramatic  mood  of  the  plays. 

Not  all  settings,  however,  can  be  so  organ- 
ically fitted  to  their  i)lays ;  not  all  plays  are  so 
liighly  individualized  in  quality  and  in  tone. 
The  settings  of  such  plays  as  Richard  Harding 


264  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play 

Davis's  "Miss  Civilization"  and  Zona  Gale's 
*'Neighbors"  are  rather  free  from  any  definite 
tone  or  quality.  The  setting  for  August  Strind- 
berg's  "Countess  Julie"  is  little  more  than  a 
presentation  of  the  concrete  details  of  the  scene. 

A  large  kitchen.  The  ceiling  and  walls  are 
partially  covered  by  draperies  and  greens.  The 
back  wall  slants  upward  from  left  side  of  scene. 
On  back  wall,  left,  are  two  shelves  filled  with 
copper  kettles,  iron  casseroles  and  tin  pans. 
The  shelves  are  trimmed  with  fancy  scalloped 
paper.  To  right  of  middle  a  large  arched  en- 
trance with  glass  doors  through  which  one  sees 
a  fountain  with  a  statue  of  Cupid,  syringa 
bushes  in  bloom  and  tall  poplars.  To  left  cor- 
ner of  scene  a  large  stove  with  hood  decorated 
with  birch  branches.  To  right,  servants'  din- 
ing table  of  white  pine  and  a  few  chairs.  On 
the  end  of  table  stands  a  Japanese  jar  filled  with 
syringa  blossoms.  The  floor  is  strewn  with 
juniper  branches. 

Again,  Sir  James  M.  Barrie  sets  his  "The 
Will"  "in  any  lawyer's  oflice,"  and  Lord  Dun- 
sany  in  his  "The  Lost  Silk  Hat,"  uses  only  a 
doorstep. 

In  devising  any  scene  for  his  play,  the  dram- 
atist will  do  well  to  aim  at  impression  and  at 
quality.  Not  only  the  materials  used  but  also 
the  phrasing  employed  make  one  kind  of  im- 
pression or  another.    Any  statement  in  the  set- 


Stage  Direction — Stage  Setting  265 

ting  should  be  as  brief  as  is  consistent  with 
clearness  and  effectiveness.  Too  detailed  and 
too  prolix  scenes  serve  only  to  confuse ;  and 
too  profuse  or  too  involved  phrasing  is  only 
bewildering.  That  phrasing  which  is  suggestive 
and  connotative,  that  which  reveals  a  great 
deal  more  than  is  actually  stated,  is  the  kind 
most  suitable  for  stage  settings.  The  phras- 
ing should  arouse  the  powers  of  imagination. 
Mere  graces  of  style,  parade  of  wit,  indulgence 
of  a  pet  philosophy,  have  no  legitimate  place 
in  the  description  of  a  scene  The  existence  of 
any  element  in  a  setting  is  justified  only  by 
the  fact  that  it  is  an  organic  element  in  the 
complete  drama.  If  a  scene  does  not  fulfil  this 
requirement,  whatever  else  it  may  be,  it  is  not 
a  setting  for  the  play. 


CONTEMPORARY  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

Sir  James  M.  Barrie 

"The  Twelve  Pound  Look,"  "Pantaloon," 
"Rosalind,"  "The  Will,"  all  in  the  volume 
called  "Half  Hours."     "Der  Tag." 

Fenn  and  Price 

"  'Op-o'-Me-Thumb." 

J.  Hartley  Manners 

"Happiness,"  "Just  as  Well,"  "The  Day  of 
Dupes,"  "The  Queen's  Messenger." 

Stuart  Walker 

Portmanteau  Plays:  "The  Six  Who  Pass 
While  the  Lentils  Boil,"  "Nevertheless,"  "The 
Medicine  Show,"  "The  Trimplet." 

Washington  Square  Plays 

"The  Clod"  by  Lewis  Beach,  "Overtones"  by 
Alice  Gerstenberg,  "Eugenically  Speaking" 
by  Edward  Goodman,  "Helena's  Husband" 
by  Philip  Moeller. 

Josephine  Preston  Peabody 

"Fortune  and  Men's  Eyes,"  "The  Wings." 

Paul  Hervieu 
"Modesty." 

George  Middleton 

"Criminals.'*  "Tradition," "On  Bail,""Their 
Wife,"  "Waiting,"  "The  Cheat  of  Pity," 
"Mothers,"  all  in  one  volume ;  "Possessions," 
"The    Groove,"    "A    Good    Woman,"    "The 

266 


Contemporary  One- Act  Plays  267 

Black  Tie,"  "Circles,"  "The  Unborn,"  all  in 
one  volume ;  "Embers,"  "The  Failures,"  "The 
Gargoyle,"  "In  His  House,"  "Madonna," 
"The  Man  Masterful,"  all  in  one  volume. 

Oliphant  Down 

"The  Maker  of  Dreams." 

Lord  Dunsany 

"The  Lost  Silk  Hat,"  "The  GUttering  Gate," 
"The  Queen's  Enemies,"  "A  Night  at  an 
Inn." 

Harvard  Plays:  The  47  Workshop. 

"Three  Pills  in  a  Bottle"  by  Rachel  Lyman 
Fields,  "The  Good  Men  Do"  by  Hubert  Os- 
borne, "Two  Crooks  and  a  Lady"  by  Eugene 
Pillot,  "Free  Speech"  by  William  L.  Prosser. 

Harvard  Plays:  The  Harvard  Dramatic  Club. 
"The  Florist  Shop"  by  Winifred  Hawkridge, 
"The  Bank  Account"  by  Howard  Brock, 
"The  Rescue"  by  Rita  Creighton  Smith, 
"America  Passes  By"  by  Kenneth  Andrews. 

Richard  Harding  Davis 

"Miss  Civilization,"  "Blackmail." 

Marion  Craig  Wentworth 
"War  Brides." 

G.  Bernard  Shaw 
"Press  Cuttings." 

Sir  Arthur  Wing  Pinero 
"Playgoers." 

Wisconsin  Plays: 

First  Series :  "The  Neighbors"  by  Zona  Gale, 
"In  Hospital"  by  Thomas  H.  Dickinson, 
"Glory  of  the  Morning"  by  William  EUery 


268  Contemporary  One- Act  Plays 

Leonard.  Second  Series :  "The  Feast  of  the 
Holy  Innocents"  by  S.  Marshall  Ilsley,  "On 
the  Pier"  by  Laura  Sherry,  "The  Shadow'* 
by  Howard  Mum  ford  Jones,  "We  Live 
Again"  by  Thornton  Gilman. 

Alice  Brown 

"Joint  Owners  in  Spain." 

Rita  Williams 
"Barbarians." 

John  Galsworthy 
"The  Little  Dream." 

Alfred  Noyes 

"A   Belgian   Christmas   Eve." 

Robert  H.  Davis  and  Perley  Poore  Sheehan 
"Efficiency." 

Utah  Plays 

"Blue  Fog"  by  Agnes  Lovendahl,  "A  Man  of 
Temperament"  by  J.  Douglas  Cook,  "Ersatz 
Marriages"  by  Vardis  Alvero  Fisher,  "The 
Grey  Switch"  by  Sarah  Keener,  "The  Cold 
Grey  Dawn"  by  Athene  Farnsworth,  "The 
Spectre"  by  Sarah  Williams. 

William  Butler  Yeats 

"The  Hour-Glass,"  "Cathleen  ni  Hoolihan," 
«A  Pot  of  Broth,"  "The  King's  Thresh- 
old." 

Lady  Gregory 

"The  Workhouse  Ward,"  "Hyacinth  Hal- 
vey,"  "Spreading  the  News,"  "The  Gaol 
Gate,"  "The  Rising  of  the  Moon,"  "The 
Travelling  Man." 


Contemporary  One- Act  Plays  269 

John  Millington  Sykge 
"Riders  to  the  Sea,"  "The  Tinker's  Wedding." 

Constance  D'Arcy  Mackay 

"The  Beau  of  Bath,"  "The  Silver  Lining," 
"Ashes  of  Roses,"  "Gretna  Green,"  "Counsel 
Retained,"  "The  Prince  of  Court  Painters." 

Welsh  Plays.  Three  Welsh  Plays  by  Jean- 
nette  Marks:  "The  Merry,  Merry  Cuckoo," 
"The  Deacon's  Hat,"  "Welsh  Honeymoon." 

Yiddish  Plays.  Six  Plays  of  the  Yiddish 
Theatre:  "Abagail"  and  "Forgotten  Souls" 
by  David  Pinski,  "She  Must  Marry  a  Doc- 
tor" by  Solomon  J.  Rabinowitsch,  "Winter" 
and  "The  Sinner"  by  Sholom  Ash,  "In  the 
Dark"  by  Perez  Hirschbein. 

Seamus  O'Brien 
"Duty." 

Elizabeth  McFadden 

"Why  the  Chimes  Rang." 

Provincetowx  Plays 

First  Series :  "Bound  East  for  Cardiff"  by 
Eugene  G.  O'Neill,  "The  Game"  by  Louise 
Bryant,  "King  Arthur's  Socks"  by  Floyd 
Dell ;  Second  Series :  "Suppressed  Desires'* 
by  George  Cram  Cook  and  Susan  Glaspell; 
Third  Scries:  "The  Two  Sons"  by  Neith 
Boyce,  "Lima  Beans"  by  Alfred  Kreymborg, 
"Before  Breakfast"  by  Eugene  G.  O'Neill; 
Fourth  Series :  "Sauce  for  the  Emperor"  by 
John  Chapin  Mosher;  Fifth  Scries:  "Co- 
caine" by  Pendleton  King;  Sixth  Series: 
"The  People"  by  Susan  Glaspell. 


270  Contemporary  One- Act  Plays 

Negro  Plays.  Plays  for  a  Negro  Theatre 
by  Ridgely  Torrence:  "Granny  Maumee," 
"The  Rider  of  Dreams,"  "Simon  the  Cyren- 
ian." 

Maurice  Maeterlinck 
"The  Intruder." 

Hugo  Von  Hofmannsthal 
"Electra." 

Arthur  Schnitzler 

Anatol  Plays :  "Ask  No  Questions  and  You'll 
Hear  No  Stories,"  "A  Christmas  Present," 
"An  Episode,"  "Keepsakes,"  "A  Farewell 
Supper,"  "Dying  Pangs,"  "The  Wedding 
Morning." 

Oscar  Wilde 
"Salome." 

Stanley  Houghton 

"The  Dear  Departed,"  "The  Master  of  the 
House,"  "Fancy  Free,"  "Phipps,"  "The 
Fifth  Commandment." 

Hermann  Sudermann 

Morituri:  "Teja,"  "Fritschen,"  "The  Eter- 
nal Masculine."  Roses :  "Streaks  of  Light," 
"Margot,"  "The  Last  Visit,"  "The  Faraway 
Princess." 

August  Strindberg 

"Countess     Julie,"     "The     Outlaw,"     "The 

Stronger,"      "Facing     Death,"      "Pariah," 

"Creditors." 
Octave  Feuillet 

"The  ViUage,"  "The  Fairy." 


CONTEMPOKARY  OnE-AcT  PlAYS    271 

Percy  MacKaye 

Yankee  Fantasies:  "Chuck,"  "Gettysburg," 
"The  Antick,"  "The  Cat-Boat,"  "Sam  Aver- 
age." 

Mary  Aldis 

"Mrs.  Pat  and  the  Law,"  "Extreme  Action," 
"The  Letter,"  "Temperament." 

Mary  Macmillan 

"The  Shadowed  Star,"  "The  Ring,"  "The 
Rose,"  "Luck?"  "Entr'Acte,"  "A  Woman's 
a  Woman  for  A'  That,"  "A  Fan  and  Two 
Candlesticks,"  "A  Modem  Masque,"  "The 
Futurist,"  "The  Gate  of  Wishes." 

Emile  Augier 

"The  Post-Scriptum,"  "A  Game  of  Chess." 

Mark  Maurey 
"Rosalie." 

Theodore  de  Banville 
"Charming  Leandre." 

Rachel  Crothers 
"The  Rector." 

Margaret  Cameron 

"The  Burglar,"  "The  Piper's  Pay." 

Tristan  Bernard 
"I'm  Going." 

Anton  Tchekov 

"The  Boor,"  "A  Marriage  Proposal." 

FRAN9OIS  COPPEE 

"Pater  Noster." 
Alfred  Sutro 

"The  Bracelet,"  "The  Correct  Thing,"  "The 
Man  on  the  Kerb,"  "Ella's  Apology,"  "Car- 
rots." 


272  Contemporary  One- Act  Plays 

Charles  Rann  Kennedy 
"The  Terrible  Meek." 

Edgar  Allan  Woolf 
"The  Lollard." 

Percival  Wilde 

"Dawn,"  "The  Noble  Lord,"  "The  Traitor," 
"A  House  of  Cards,"  "Playing  With  Fire," 
"The  Finger  of  God,"  all  in  one  volume; 
"Confessional,"  "The  Villain  in  the  Piece," 
"According  to  Darwin,"  "A  Question  of 
MoraHty,"  "The  Beautiful  Story,"  all  in  one 
volume. 

Sir  Rabindranath  Tagore 
"Chitra." 


INDEX 


Aldis,  Marv,  19,  89,  112, 
149,  188,  228,  229,  271 

American  Public,  Charac- 
teristics of,  50-57 

American  Public,  Dramatic 
Possibilities  of,  56 

Anatol,  89 

Andrews,  Charlton,  65,  236, 
243 

Appia,  42,  257 

Archer,  William,  11,  40,  66, 
69 

Aristotle,  61,  96 

Attendance,  Reasons  for 
Theatre,  31-34 

Audience,  27-57 

Audience,  Characteristics 
of  Present-day  Tlieatre, 
44-50 

Audience,  Emotional  Char- 
acteristics of,  35-39 

Audience,  Interests  of,  39- 
44 

Audience,  Mental  Charac- 
teristics of,  36 

Audience,  Relation  between 
Dramatist  and,  27-30 

Bakst,  42 

Barrie,  Sir  James  M.,  12, 
15,  22,  84,  90,  97,  105, 
112,  130,  134,  136,  138, 
144,  151,  153,  158,  167, 
168,  200,  215,  217,  219, 
229,    233,    261,   264,    266 

Beach,  Lewis,  80,  137,  11.9, 


152,  158,    188,    197,   200, 
213,  218,  228 

Beau  of  Bath,  258 

Begin,  Where  and  How  to, 

139-146 
Beginning,      Analysis      of, 

133 
Beginning,     Function    and 

Characteristics    of,    128- 

139 
Beginning       of       One-act 

Play,    125-146 
Beginning,  Organic  Nature 

of,  125-128 
Beginning,  Importance  of, 

128 
Beginning,     Situation     in, 

136 
Beginning,   Structural   As- 
pects of,  125-128 
Blackmail,     53,     105,     144, 

153,  154,    183,    216,    231, 
241,  247 

Blackmail,  End  of,  196 
Blending,  Methods  of,  177- 

184 
Boor,  The,  55,  87,  89,  112, 

161 
Bracelet,  The,  43,  107,  136, 

151 
Brown,  Alice,  161,  268 
Bruneti^rc,  40,  66,  70,  156, 

162 


Cameron,     Margaret,     153, 
271 


273 


274 


Index 


Cathleen   ni    Hoolihan,   27, 

149,  160 
Cathleen  ni  Hoolihan,  End 

of,  196 
Character,      Creation      of, 

210 
Character,      Elements      of 

Dramatic,  202-210 
Characters,  Names  of,  222 
Character,    Personality    in, 

207 
Character    in    Relation    to 

Plot,  202-205 
Characteristics     of 

an    American    Audience, 

50-57 
Characteristics  of  a  Pres- 
ent-day   Theatre    Audi- 
ence, 44-50 
Characterization,     Methods 

of,  211-223 
Characterization,     Use     of 

Details  in,  220 
Cheat  of  Pity,  The,  46,  80, 

145,    153,    154,    160,    199, 

228 
Clod,    The,    80,    106,    137, 

149,  152,    158,    188,    199, 
213,  218 

Clod,  End  of,  197-199 
Closing  Speech,  Importance 

of,  199 
Cockatoo,    The    Green,    32, 

89,  93 
Cook,   George   Cramm,    33, 

22,    27,    46,    55,    77,    90, 

150,  158,  183,  228,  229 
Correct  Thing,  The,  43,  54, 

151,  158,    161,    164,    186, 
199,  218,  260 

Countess  Julie,  46,  80,  97, 
107,  153,  155,  158,  165, 
186,  194,  217,  227,  264 

Craig,  Gordon,  257 


Criminals,  27,  37,  47,  80, 
93,  107,  149,  153,  161, 
213,  214,  259 

Crisis,  23,  96-98 

Crucial  Moment,  148-156 

Crucial  Moment,  Impor- 
tance of,  153 

Davis,  Richard  Harding, 
53,  144,  153,  154,  158, 
196,  216,  217,  231,  241, 
247,  263,  267 

Day  of  Dupes,  The,  152, 
188,  200,  233,  250 

Der  Tag,  90,  97,  112,  130, 
151,  153,  161,  168,  219 

Der  Tag,  Movements  of, 
168-169 

Der  Tag,  "Points"  of, 
171-175 

Dialogue,    224-242 

Dialogue,  Characteristics 
of,  235-242 

Dialogue,  Function  of,  224- 
235 

Dialogue,  Misconceptions 
About,  225-227 

Dialogue,  Not  Speech  of 
Every-day  Life,  237 

Dickinson,  Thomas  H., 
136,  144,  216,  260 

Dovi^n,  Oliphant,  228,  267 

Dramatic  Action,  Nature 
of,   162 

Dramatic  Possibilities  of 
American  Public,  56 

Dramatist  and  his  Au- 
dience, 27-57,   117 

Dramatist  and  his  Tech- 
nique, 58 

Dramatist,  Equipment  of, 
63-68 

Dramatist,  Qualities  of 
the,  58-63 


Index 


275 


Dumas  /??*,  78,  126 

Dumas  phre,  84 

Dunsany,  Lord,  13,  22,  93, 
101,  107,  133,  134,  13G, 
144,  151,  158,  183,  194, 
229,    233,    241,    264,    267 

Emotional  Characteristics 
of  an  Audience,  35-39 

End,  Artificial  Aspects  of, 
192 

End,  Structural  Aspects  of, 
188,   191 

End,  Structure  and  Na- 
ture of,  185-194 

End  as  Emotional  Reac- 
tion on  the  Crucial  Mo- 
ment, 185-188 

End  as  a  Structural  Prob- 
lem, 191 

Ending  a  Play,  Methods 
of,  193-201 

Eugenically  Speaking,  12, 
112 

Extreme  Unction,  19,  93, 
112,  149,  189,  228,  229 

Facing   Death,   12,   46,  80, 

89,  154,  160,  239 
Falling  Action,  189 
Fenn  and  Price,  12,  15,  77, 

80,  93,  112,  149,  153,  158, 

188,  266 
Finger   of   God,   The,   153, 

199    233 
Fritschen,  15,  27,  89 

Gale,  Zona,  12,  27,  80,  93, 

107,  137,  157,  264 
Gerstenl)erg,  Alice,  46,  55, 

77,  90,  112,  138,  149,  152, 

160 
Giacosa,  Giuseppe,  27,  89 
Glaspell,  Susan,  12,  22,  27, 


46,   55,   77,   90,   150,   158, 

228,  229 
Glittering    Gate,    The,    12, 

93,  138,  144,  158,  229 
Glory  of  the  Morning,  144, 

155 
Goodman,  Edward,  12,  112 
Gregory,  Lady,  92,  93,  149, 

152,  160,  218,  268 

Hamilton,  Clayton,  27,  m, 

193 
Happiness,  46,  97,  137,  152, 

158,    187,    189,    194,    216, 

2i9,  241,  248 
Harvard  Plays,  267 
Helena's      Husband,      153, 

158 
Hervieu,   Paul,   12,   15,   22, 

46,  77,  93,  137,  150,  153, 

155,  161,  266 
Hour-Glass,    The,    12,    22, 

93,  107,  233 

Incident    in    Plot-building, 

98-101 
Incident  and  Situation,  98 
In  Hospital,  137,  144,  216, 

259 
Intent  in  a  Play,  83-88 
Interests   of  an   Audience, 

39-44 
Interest,     Psychology     of, 

loa-ni 

Inter-play  of  Dramatic 
Forces,  Progressive,  156- 
162 

Length  of  One-act  Play,  19 
Leonard,    William    Ellery, 

144,   155 
Lollard,  The,  136,  201,  229 
Lost  Silk  Hat,  The,  12,  23, 

93,     101-104,     107,     132, 


276 


Index 


151,    169,    183,    194,    229, 

233   241    264 
Lost  Silk  Hat,  End  of,  195 
Lost  Silk  Hat,  Movements 

of,  169 

Mackay,  Constance  D'Arcy, 
258,  269 

Maeterlinck,  Maurice,  89, 
270 

Maker  of  Dreams,  228 

Manners,  J.  Hartley,  97, 
137,  158,  187,  188,  189, 
194,  200,  216,  219,  233, 
241,   249,    250,   266 

Marriaiie  Proposal,  A,  15, 
27,    55,    84,    87,    89,    93, 

106,  153,  161 
Matthews,  Brander,  40,  49, 

236 
Mental    Characteristics    of 

an  Audience,  36 
Middle     of     the     One-act 

Play,  146-184 
Middle,  Organic  Structure 

of,  148 
Middleton,  George,  27,  37, 

46,    80,    87,    89,    93,    97, 

107,  144,  149,  153,  154, 
160,  161,  194,  199,  213, 
214,   260,    262,    266 

Minor  Rhythmical  Move- 
ments in"  a  Play,  167-171 

Miss  Civilization,  144,  158, 
264 

Modesty,  12,  15,  23,  46,  77, 
89,  92,  137,  150,  153,  155, 
161 

Moeller,  Philip,  153,  158 

Mothers,  46,   80 

Motives  for  Theatre  At- 
tendance, 31-33 

Movements,  Minor  Rhyth- 
mical, 167-171 


Negro  Plays,  270 
Neighbors,   12,   27,   80,   93, 

107,  137,  158,  264 
Night  at  an  Inn,  A,  136 
Noble  Lord,  The,  112,  144 

Obligatory   Scene,   150 
O'Brien,  Seamus,  269 
One-act   Play   a   Drairatic 

Type,  10,  *20 
One-act     Play     a     Special 

Type  of  Fiction,  10,  13- 

14,  21,  68 
One-act  Play  and  the  Short 

Story,  10,  21 
One-act    Play,    Length    of, 

19 
One-act  Play,  Material  of, 

22-24 
One-act  Play,  Obstacles  to 

Development,  15-18 
One-act   Play,   Possibilities 

of,  23-24 
One-act    Play,    Theme    of, 

76-93 
One-act     Play,     Technique 

of,  18-26 
'Op-o'-Me-Thumb,    12,    15, 

32,  77,  93,  112,  149,  153, 

188 
Outlaw,  The,  106,  161 
Overtones,    12,   46,    55,    77, 

90,    112,    138,    149,    152, 

158,  160,  161 

Pantaloon,    105,    144,    215, 

261 
Parish,    84,    89,    161,    194, 

218 
Peabodv,    Josephine    Pres- 
ton, 266 
Plav,  Germinal  Idea  of,  90 
Playlet,  Definition  of,   177 
Plot,   Analysis  of,   116-117 


Index 


277 


Plot  of  One-act  Play,  94- 

Plot  in  Actual  Life,  119 

Plot  in  Relation  to  Char- 
acter, 203-205 

Plot,  Characteristics  of, 
Dramatic,   104-112 

Plot,  Definition  of,  95,  99 

Plot,  Importance  of,  94- 
104 

Plot,  Organic  Divisions  of, 
122-124 

Plot,  Sources  and  Materials 
of,  118-121 

Plot,  Structural  Aspects 
of,  112-118 

Plot,  Unity  in,  113 

"Points,"  170-177 

Portmanteau  Plays,  266 

Preparation,  Method  of  Se- 
curing,   182-184 

Press  Cuttings,  144,  161 

Provincetown  Plays,  269 

Quarrel  in  Dramatic  Ac- 
tions, 161 

Relation    between    Drama- 
tist and  Audience,  27-30 
Riders  to  the  Sea,  15,  228 

Sarcey,  192,  242 
Scene  a  faire,  150 
Schnitzler,   Arthur,  89,  93, 

150,  200,  263,  270 
Scribe,   Eugene,  234 
Shaw,    Goo.    Bernard,    144, 

161,  267 
Situation  vs.   Incident,  98 
Spreading    the     News,    89, 

101 
Stage    Direction,    243-257 
Stage   Direction,    Function 

of,  243,  247-252 


Stage  Direction,  Kind  of, 
255 

Stage  Direction,  Organic 
Part  of  Plot,  245 

Stage  J3irection,  When  to 
Use,  254 

Stage  Direction,  Writing 
of,  246,  256 

Stage  Setting,  257-265 

Stage  Setting,  Function  of, 
257-260 

Stage  Setting,  New  Idea 
of,  257 

Stage  Setting,  Organic  Na- 
ture of,  258 

Strindberg,  August,  12, 
27,  46,  80,  84,  89,  97, 
108,  151,  152,  153,  154, 
155,  158,  160,  161,  165, 
186,  194,  217,  227,  229, 
264,  270 

Struttffle  in  Drama,  40-42, 
llO,'^  156-160 

Sudermann,  Hermann,  15, 
90,  270 

Suppressed  Desires,  12,  22, 
27,  46,  55,  77,  90,  150, 
158,  228,  229 

Suspense,  Methods  of  Se- 
curing:, 180-182 

Sutro,  Alfred,  43,  46,  54, 
107,  136,  144,  151,  153, 
158,  161,  164,  186,  199, 
218,  260,  271 

Svnjre,  John  Millington,  15, 
'228,  268 

Tchekov,  Anton,  15,  27,  55, 

84,  87,  89,   93,   112,   153, 

161 
Technique  of  One-act  Plav, 

18-26 
Technique,      Nature      and 

Value  of,  68-74 


278 


Index 


Theatre  Attendance,  Mo- 
tives for,  31-34 

Theatre  Audience,  Charac- 
teristics of,  44-50 

Theme  of  One-act  Play, 
76-93 

Theme,  Dramatic  Value 
of,  76-83 

Theme,  Sources  and  Na- 
ture of,  88-93 

Theme,  Structural  Value 
of,  83-87 

Traitor,  The,  136,  219,  239 

Twelve  Pound  Look,  The, 
12,  15,  19,  22,  32,  80,  84, 
136,  138,  144,  151,  158, 
161,  213,  215,  219,  229, 
233 

Utah  Plays,  268 

Wager,  The,  27,  89 
V/alker,  Stuart,  266 


War  Brides,  11,  27,  38,  53, 

80,  87,  155,  213 
Washington   Square  Plays, 

266 
Welsh  Plays,  269 
Wentworth,  Marion  Craig, 

12,  27,  32,  53,  80 
Wife,      The,      161,      190, 

194 
Wilde,   Percival,   112,    136, 

144,    153,    190,    199,   218, 

229   233   272 
Will,  'The,'  32,  200,  264 
Wisconsin  Plays,  267 
Woolf,   Edgar   Allan,   136, 

152,  201,  229,  272 
Workhouse      Ward,      The, 

150,  160,  318 

Yeats,  William  Butler,  12, 
22,  27,  89,  107,  137,  155, 
160,  196,  233,  268 

Yiddish  Plays,  269 


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